The Islands
by Soxil
Summary: Draco's life as a run away is about to hit a serious snag when he sees a familiar face walking around his island. What follows is a whirlwind adventure with romance, tragedy, comedy, and of course, plenty of magic. A multi-part story told from the points of view of Draco and Hermione. Rated M for sexually graphic descriptions. Post War and true to the books (excluding the epilogue)
1. Prologue

A/N: Enjoy my new story! I've had a blast writing it and will be posting chapters every week.  
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters do no belong to me.

**Part I: Somewhere off the coast of Brazil**_  
Prologue _

Ten years.

He could see the years bunched around his sunken gray eyes as he stared into the shard of mirror. Much had changed over the years but not those eyes. Dead to the world. Or at least playing the part.

He tore his gaze away, reminded by the early morning commotion outside that he couldn't dawdle. As he did every morning, he made a mental note to fix this mirror. But by the time he passed through the heavy metal door, the note had vanished, just like it did every morning.

The sun was just peeking out over the tops of the buildings in front of him. The sky was already a crisp light blue, not a cloud in sight though he took note of the receding red skies from the sunrise and left his home grateful that the heat would be broken later tonight.

He started down the dusty dirt road toward the far end of town, heading east toward the docks. His mind wandered as he took the same path he took every morning. He passed by the couple of food carts preparing for the onslaught of workers who would descend on their menus sooner rather than later. He failed to notice the small brown mutt, yawning by the curb of the road, roused by the noise of motorbikes as the town came alive. As he crossed the main street, the buzz of broken Portuguese crescendoed as small shops and bars began to open for the day.

But his mind wandered and so these sights, sights which he had once taken great pains to survey, no longer registered on his daily commute. It had been ten years after all.

Ten years of running.

Ten years of hopping from one island to the next, of settling down, of learning a new language when necessary, of finding work, of blending in. And, eventually, after he felt his guard go down and his mind wander, of leaving and starting over on a new island.

But it had been ten years and Draco Malfoy was tired of running.

He approached the docks, the numerous fishing, sailing, and dive boats bobbing steadily in murky water as the tide slowly came in. He removed his plastic ID card and waved it to João who nodded in greeting and went back to watching the game that played above his security desk. Draco stopped when he reached the cork board just outside the entrance and scanned the sun bleached papers for the day's date.

Five boats today. All standard concerns and requests. It would be a long but meditative day. He allowed himself a small smile and walked over to the first of the five boats, a Bermuda rig new to the dock and likely owned by a visitor. It was sleek and even with the sails down he could tell she was built for speed. He'd come across a few others like her during his time here but it was rare to see a racing boat like this one. There must be a regatta in the area.

"Bom dia mate!" a rough Australian accent broke Draco from his thoughts. He turned to see a large, middle aged man making his way down toward the boat, paddling along in his Sperry's and holding a bucket of fresh fruit.

"Sir," Draco replied, bowing his head briefly before looking up into the older man's deep blue eyes. "I'm here for the work request."

"Ah yes! Well, didn't expect a Brit to be slavin' away on her today. But good to have you and the extra help. I'm Lincoln, the proud and broke captain of this marvel." He laughed at his joke and gazed lovingly up at the ship. Draco studied the man while he listed off what needed to be done for the day. He gazed down briefly at his pockets and waist band, failing to see the outline of a wand, and tentatively reached out with his mind to test the Aussie. But there was nothing. The man kept prattling on, oblivious to Draco's testing.

Muggle.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief but kept his guard up none the less.

"What did you say your name was mate?"

"I hadn't. But you can call me Harry." Lincoln smiled broadly and patted him on the back. Draco inwardly cringed, never having appreciated the almost fatherly relationship he found most older men eased into around him.

"Well then Harry, let's get started."

The next few hours progressed in relative silence while Draco made his way steadily around the boat with his tool box and Lincoln kept to the galley, hunched over nautical maps and occasionally adjusting the frequency of his radio. Even as Draco worked he kept an eye on Lincoln. The man appeared engrossed in his work but Draco would not be caught off guard. Even if he was a muggle. The Ministry had sent muggles after him before. He rubbed the raised scar stretching across his right shoulder and prickled at the memory of the last time he let his guard down around a muggle. So while he worked he studied Lincoln and committed his looks, his ticks, his mannerism to memory. Just in case.

"That'll be it for me Sir." Draco announced from the entrance of the galley. Lincoln looked up from his maps and smiled. He reached into his back pocket to fish out a wad of Brazilian reais and made his way over to Draco.

"Fast work you do Harry. I'll have to remember you next time I'm on the island." Draco smiled back, bowed his head, and accepted the meager wages. As he left for boat number two he found himself hoping there would be a next time but acknowledging that his departure from the island may be fast approaching as well.

The rest of the day kept Draco too preoccupied to worry about Lincoln or his future on the island. The other boats were regulars and he knew their captains well. The work was laborious and by the end of each job he had to ring out his sweat rag over the pier and reapply sunscreen to the few parts of his exposed body.

Sometime in the afternoon, before he made his way over to this last job, he stopped by the washroom. It was one of the few places Draco frequented that had a decent mirror and it always surprised him to see his full reflection staring back.

While his gray eyes had stayed the same over all these years island hopping, not much else had. His once platinum blonde hair was now streaked with darker strands of caramel and ash, giving him the appearance (and indeed, the credibility) of a day laborer. He ran his calloused hands through his hair, pushing the longer strands back and getting a brief glimpse of the boy he once was back in England: slicked back hair, aquiline features, a devil may care attitude. But as his hands progressed over his scalp and his wavy dirty blond hair fell back into its natural position, he changed from that naïve boy into the hardened man he'd grown to become.

He preferred to have his hair cover more of his face—in part to hide his once infamous features but also because it gave him the cloak he needed to go undetected when he surveyed his environment or the people in front of him. His skin, though still fair by island standards was tanned by the years in the sun and freckles he'd never seen in England seemed to have grown overnight across his cheeks and shoulders. He was bigger as well, though running from place to place and surviving off a seafood diet had kept him lean. His forearms and thighs were certainly larger than before likely due to all the sailing.

Draco gave himself another once over, partly pleased to see that he didn't look anything like the frightened boy who had fled England once upon a time. But those eyes. They would always give him away.

Well, that and the Dark Mark.

He instinctively rubbed the tattoo on his left forearm grateful yet again for long sleeves. He didn't need to go around advertising his mark even if the town was devoid of a magical community. Tattoos always raised questions. And that was true whether he was a wizard or a muggle.

As he made his way over to his last job of the day, he refilled his canteen at the bar with the slightly salty water he'd grown accustomed to savoring over the past six months. It had been the longest amount of time he'd ever spent in a single location and that thought alone had him anxious to get moving.

The afternoon wrapped up and he smiled at the heavy pockets of his khaki shorts, already thinking of what to grab from the evening market for dinner. But before he called it a day he made his way towards the end of the dock and the Varne 27 that sat patiently in the water. He caught the name of the ship, _Onward_, as he easily jumped aboard. After some time checking over the rigging and the sails, he set off from the dock. Once they reached the open ocean, away from the small marina, he prepared the sails.

Nothing could have prepared Draco for the sheer pleasure that sailing his own boat would bring him. In these moments, his mind was focused, present. He wasn't haunted or running from his past, concerned about his future, or simply going through the motions of living. When he sailed on _Onward_, he was alive. Nothing else mattered except his next move. He couldn't remember a time he'd ever been so focused and attuned to his body and its movement through the world around him. It was in moments like these he was reassured he'd made the right decision. That leaving everything behind—his crimes, his family, his life—was worth the anxiety of living day to day on the run. If he could have moments like this one he would do the same thing all over again.

That evening, as Draco wandered through the fisherman's market and collected the ingredients he'd need for his dinner, he made the effort to stop and talk to all the familiar faces that he passed by. In only six months he had created a community here. They knew enough about his past to talk more about the day to day and they kept him anchored to his life on the island. Because even though he knew, and it wasn't even buried that deep, that he would have to leave one day the connection to this community was healing wounds he hadn't realize remained opened and salted all these years.

It was as he reflected on these thoughts, making his way home through the town's center that it happened.

Even looking back on this fateful day, years later he'd never be able to pinpoint what it was that caught his attention first.

Sometimes he thought it was the familiar pull of magic that broke through his lazy thoughts. That needling feeling that started in your back and seeped through your bones. That feeling of being watched but not by human or even creature eyes, but by the very essence of magic itself. Like it called out and clung to the bodies of those already infected.

Other times he would swear it was the smell that first alerted him to her presence. That strange, slightly hypnotic smell that only foreigners brought with them. This time it was a dampness, almost cool in the way it smelled if that were possible. As if a northern wind and blown through and brought with it the promise of spring showers, moist earth, and a homey fire. It was both intoxicating and jarring.

But whether it was the recognition of magic or the inkling that one his kinsmen was nearby, Draco couldn't deny that what his eyes saw next triggered that laser focus.

Her bushy hair was wrestled into a long braid, trailing her petite back and the white linen blouse she wore. A pack, deceptively small in appearance, sat patiently beside her as a tan, long leg clad in white tenis shoes gingerly scratched the other. With one hand on her hip, and the other gesticulating to the hotel's receptionist, she looked every bit the flustered tourist.

Draco turned sharply, his back to the familiar witch and crossed the street at a leisurely pace so as not to draw unwanted attention to his actions. He stepped into the bodega and set his own pack down while he hurriedly picked up a packaged sweet on the shelf nearest to him. Without turning his head, he shifted his gaze back over to the opposite side of the street and to the island's newest arrival checking into her hotel.

Her back was still turned to him but already his breathing had quickened. It couldn't be her. He was paranoid, that was all. It was some random witch on vacation. It couldn't be her.

But even as she turned to pick up her pack and time seemed to come to a painful stop, Draco knew the truth. He wasn't being paranoid. His ten years has honed his instincts and save for a few hiccups along the way, they were never wrong. This wasn't a random witch.

Draco's breath hitched as the witch bent forward and then straightened, looking out in his direction.

Ten years had gone by and while everything had changed in Draco's life, he was now more confident than ever that one thing never would: the dangerously inquisitive eyes of Hermione Granger.


	2. Part I: Chapter 1

A/N: Buckle up for long-ass chapters cause that's what's coming to you from here on out!  
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters do not belong to me

**Part 1: Somewhere off the coast of Brazil**

_Chapter 1_

He locked the metal door behind him before dropping the fresh groceries and leaning back against the cool metal. He was still breathing irregularly and his heart beat faster than it had all day. Looking down at his calloused hands he noticed the slight tremor and balled them repeatedly into fists before releasing and stretching out his fingers, trying to shake the shakes away.

"Harry? É você?" a delicate voice rang from deeper within the small concrete home. Draco pushed himself off the door, grabbed the groceries, and walked towards the sing-song voice that instantly calmed him.

When he reached the small kitchen he was greeted by the solitary light that hung from the gray concrete ceiling and illuminated the scene before him. A small, dark woman dressed only in jean shorts and a bikini top hunched over the sink scrubbing a metal tin as though returning it to its long-gone shine was her only mission in life. Dark, straight brown hair cascaded down her back and whipped from side to side as she worked on a particularly greasy spot on the tin. Tiny soap suds flew from her hands as she worked and spotted the bare titled floor below her where her pink flip flops nearly touched the patient black cat waiting to be fed.

Draco smiled a small smile and plopped the groceries down on the kitchen table in the middle of the room. He snuck up behind the woman and wrapped his arms around her torso, causing her to shift her head to one side so that he could kiss her long neck, covered in a thin sheen of sweat from oppressive humidity.

"Harry! Beijos, beijos, beijos!" She laughed and turned into him, her arms out so as not to get soap and water on his torso, and pushed on her tip-toes to get a chaste kiss from him. He thought to take the kiss further but reconsidered when a deep meow floated up from below them. The pair glanced down and the once patient black cat began moving between their legs, pushing its body against their bare calves in hopes of some attention.

"I'll take care of him," stated Draco, falling into his Portuguese despite the very English thoughts still buzzing around in his mind. He made his way over to the small refrigerator and removed a container of chopped fish and chicken innards. As he prepared the creature's meal, the woman dried off her hands and circled around him to wrapper her arms around his torso. She attempted to kiss his neck as he had hers but her height only permitted her to get as far as his lower shoulder blade. She laughed and pulled him down so that she could reach his neck, where she playfully threw her arms around him and directed his lips back to hers.

Xx

"Andreia, I need to spend the next few nights on the boat," Draco said between mouthfuls of fresh fish that had just come out of the pan. Andreia looked up from her own plate, her face scrunched with concern and curiosity. "Nothing's wrong, I just need to make some repairs on _Onward_ and see how she handles them. It should only take a few days." Andreia nodded and went back to eating her dinner, occasionally slipping some pieces down to the cat who sat quietly at her heels.

Once Draco finished with his fish and saw that Andreia was giving more of her dinner to the cat then eating it herself, he gathered the plates and began washing them in the sink. Andreia began to tell him about her day at the café and the news fishermen had brought from the mainland. She launched into a story that had her laughing loudly and speaking animatedly, gesticulating wildly so that the cat was scared enough to go sleep in another room. He laughed alongside her though his mind was elsewhere. He liked the sound of her voice. Sometimes he would turn off his understanding of the language and just focus on the melody of her voice. Andreia was one of those women who wore everything out in the open: he could tell how she felt from her voice, her facial expressions, even the way her body moved. She had nothing to hide. She had no reason to hide anything. There was a time when he thought she'd be the one to bring that out of him too.

A mobile rang from the living room and Andreia jumped out of her chair to grab it. He heard her tone shift slightly and recognized it as the voice she used when talking to her family. He took that as his cue to give her some privacy and stepped out into the tiny yard they owned behind the house. Her dirt bike sat in the corner of the walled yard and he sank into one of the two chairs placed strategically on the remarkably clean terracotta tiles. The sun had already set but he could still see some pinks and purples melting into the horizon from over the walls and buildings beyond their plot. As the day came to a close and night crept over the island, Draco realized his hands were trembling once again.

Hermione Granger had found him.

He was surprised to say the least. He hadn't expected her to be looking for him. In the past the Ministry had sent their most tenured Aurors, and then their most tenured thugs, and then they seemed to send any bounty hunter—wizard or muggle—willing to take the unfortunate job of dragging Draco Malfoy back to London. He had assumed over the years that the Ministry was getting increasingly bored of this chase and that his capture had become more of an administrative burden than the once strategic mission it had been after the War. But with Granger here he'd need to reevaluate his earlier theory.

After all it couldn't be a coincidence that she was here. Could it?

As far as he could remember, he didn't remember hearing about the Great Hermione Granger as a sailor, or diver, or even fan of tropical vacations. Why else would she be here if not to arrest him and take him back to London?

He had to leave. It was the only way out of this situation.

He glanced over his shoulder and watched as Andreia paced the living room, oscillating between laughter, anger, and defeat as she spoke to her family. She was good to him. Hell, she was good _for_ him. Could he take her with him? Would she give up her home here, her life, and set sail with him to another home, another life? One that would likely only last a few months before they set out again?

Did he love her? He had asked himself this question many times over the past month or so. Perhaps the fact that he never seemed to come to a solid answer was a clue in and of itself. He glanced back. He didn't want to leave her. But he also couldn't go back to London. He couldn't be caught.

He gnawed on the inside of his cheek, a bad habit from his youth whenever he found himself trapped between a rock and a hard place. As he was weighing out his options, warm hands found their way traveling down his shoulders to his chest. He leaned his head back and was instantly enveloped in a veil of dark hair and the smell of the island. Her lips found his and soon her tongue found his. Hands roamed his chest and nails gently grated along the ridges of his muscles. His breath caught and he snaked his arm around and pulled her over to his side and then to sit on his lap. Their lips found each other once again and soon her arms were wrapped around his neck and hands were playing with his hair.

He stood with her, wrapped in his arms and carried her inside. She deepened their kiss and squirmed against him, eager to take things further. He smiled into her kiss, all thoughts of Hermione Granger and his future pushed to the side as his beautiful partner pushed and pulled at the thin clothing between them. They took their time relishing each other's bodies: kissing and licking, squeezing and caressing. When her sighs became moans and her movements more frantic, Draco acquiesced and pushed inside her. He savored every moment with her, in her, not sure if this would be their last or the start of something new. And as she cried out and he stilled within her, he knew he couldn't leave this home he had created for himself. She curled up next to him and slowly her breathing became normal and then it slowed even further and he knew she was peacefully asleep on his chest.

Gazing up at the ceiling fan with his arm wrapped around her, he found a new sense of determination. This was him home. He had finally found a place where he could live out his life in relative peace and quiet where running wasn't always the first thing on his mind.

He would fight for that freedom. Hermione Granger was not going to scare him away.

Xx

The next day began as any other: Draco detached himself from Andreia's hold and quickly jumped in the shower before dressing in his usual work clothes and heading out the door. The sun was just coming up and while today looked like any other day, to Draco it was a whole new world. With a small pack hanging from his shoulder and a newfound resolve to fight for his home on this island, Draco had a plan.

He quickly made his way to the docks and to _Onward_, dropping off his pack in the galley and then heading back into the town.

Every part of his being told him Granger was here to extradite him but he had to be sure. His next move depended on this information. Andreia would believe he was staying at the boat for next few days and judging by her conversation last night he assumed her family would keep her thoughts away from his going ons. In the meantime, Draco would get to the bottom of Granger's seemingly innocuous vacation. And once he could confidently say she was or wasn't after him, he'd take his stand.

But for today he just needed to learn more about her motives for being here.

The town was small, a couple hundred people lived here year round but during high season that number tripled. While normally he would curse the increase of people poking around his space he thanked Merlin for the influx of visitors. Following Granger would be that much easier.

He stopped by the hotel where he saw her the other night: Bella Vista. It was one of the tallest buildings on the island with four stories of small suite-style rooms. While it didn't have its own restaurant like several of the other hotels did, it was strategically located in the center of town and equidistant from the ferry dock back to Brazil and the local docks. The perfect spot for a tourist popping in for a few days.

While he waited across the street at a relatively quiet outdoor café, he mentally prepared himself for seeing her again. It had been ten years since he last saw her. And if he wasn't mistaken she had been crying when they parted. Whether that was because she was upset to see him and several other classmates dragged away by the Ministry (which he highly doubted) or because the aftermath of the War had finally caught up with her, he'd never forget the destitution in her eyes. It didn't take a St. Mungo's therapist to know the War had taken its toll on her but it wasn't really until that moment that Draco realized maybe he wasn't the only one left shattered by the resurgence of Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

He snorted. Of course he wouldn't have thought of anyone other than himself at that time. Who had time to empathize with the enemy when everyday was a new opportunity to realize just how fragile your life was in the hands of someone like Voldemort? Still, he wouldn't easily forget that heavy realization even as he was dragged away for crimes he felt were entirely out of his control.

He snorted again, mentally kicking himself. She did this to him! She had this uncanny ability to make him feel as if he were 13 again, getting punched in the face by some pathetic, prepubescent girl. Something about Hermione Granger made his blood boil and he hated himself for letting her have this effect on him. If he was going to see her again and monitor her movements, he needed to get control over his emotions. Emotions were what fueled rash decisions and rash decisions could get him exposed and dragged off to Azkaban. He took a deep breath in and a sip of the coffee he'd ordered from the café.

"Get it together Malfoy," he whispered under his breath.

As the morning progressed and more and more people made their way to work or to some vacation adventure, Draco became increasingly anxious to see her. Had he imagined it all? Or was she watching him? He looked around, checking for the millionth time that the hunter hadn't suddenly become the hunted.

And then there she was.

She was leaving the hotel and walking towards him.

He took a deep breath and remained perfectly still. He knew that if he left abruptly it would grab her attention, so instead he picked up the menu and bent his head so that his hair covered most of his face from her view. But his gray eyes darted up and back to her figure.

She was dressed smartly, almost too formally for the island. Her hair was drawn back into a braid and a small pack rested on her shoulder while she carried a thin book in her other hand. She looked determined. She was on a mission. Draco cursed himself for ever imagining that this wasn't Hermione Granger and that she wasn't out to arrest him.

He watched as she made her way into the café and was then shown to a table only a few meters in front of his. Thankfully she chose to sit facing the street so that her back was to him and he could study her properly. She quickly ordered a coffee and some breakfast before laying her book out on the table.

Draco arched an eyebrow. Maybe things hadn't changed as much as he had thought. He watched as she slowly sunk deeper into her chair and leaned further into the book she read, as if willing it to suck her into its contents. With one hand holding the book and flipping pages, she let her other hand drift down to her crossed legs and draw nonsensical designs into her pants. Draco noticed her hands looked calloused, almost like his. Despite her smart attire those were not the hands of a desk jockey—Granger must work with her hands. Auror was still at the top of his list for potential professions but he wondered whether she had maybe chased after her love of research and become a magical artifact retrievalist or studied magical creatures.

When her coffee and breakfast arrived she closed her book and stared out into the street. She leaned back and casually reached a hand back to massage her neck. Maybe she's stressed? Could be from searching for me for ten bloody years, thought Draco. Or maybe it's from a long flight, or uncomfortable bed?

Draco was becoming increasingly frustrated with the lack of information he was gleaning from watching Granger at the café. He needed to change tactics. Or at the very least he needed to get out of here. He threw down a few reais and left the café, ducking into a nearby shop where he could keep an eye on her movements. After another 20 minutes or so, Hermione paid for her meal and then set out down the street. Draco kept his distance but followed her and watched as she took in the sights of his island.

It was clear she was headed somewhere in particular and rarely did she stop to admire shops or the stands in the central market. She turned sharply off of the main street and down a less traveled road, one that even Draco rarely took. Instead of shops and houses on this road, the island's city and municipal buildings took up most of the space. He watched her gaze up to a modest two story building and then look down at a tiny slip of paper. She confidently walked in and disappeared. Waiting a beat, Draco crept out of the shadows and, expecting to see that she had gone into the nearest law enforcement establishment let out a small chuckle when he noticed the sign on the building read "City Archives and Antiquities".

"Typical Bookwork Granger," sighed Draco. Unfamiliar with the building, he decided instead to wait in the shadows of a nearby building until she came out. When several hours rolled by and still no sign of the witch he considered going in and taking a risk to see if she were still there. But just as soon as those thoughts formed, he watched her petite frame leave the building with a large bag in tow. She passed him—it was the closest he had been to her since he came upon her at the hotel last night—and he noticed the bag was filled with books and folios. Curious, he followed her back to her hotel where again she disappeared for a good deal of time. With the sun at its peak Draco could not blame her for wanting to seek refuge in the air conditioned rooms of her hotel but his stubbornness prevented him from seeking refuge himself; instead, he sat at the café from that morning, waiting for her to reemerge.

What could she be doing with all those archives? Surely he wasn't in any of them so perhaps Granger wasn't here for his arrest. Would it be too much to wish that she was here on some twisted version of a vacation, lounging around her hotel room reading up on local histories? Draco did not doubt that such a vacation would be a dream for the book worm.

It wasn't until late afternoon that she stepped outside of her hotel again. Draco was almost confident she would either go back to the Archives to retrieve more books or at the very least grab a bite to eat. But instead she made her way in the opposite direction, toward the local docks. His breath quickened knowing she was headed towards the very location he frequented the most and he hastily followed her. When they arrived at the docks, Draco watched as Hermione spoke to João the marina security guard. Enough time passed that Draco began to worry their conversation was about more than just her identification or obtaining directions to one of the water activities shops. What could they be going on about, he thought.

Finally she left and made her way down to the docks. He watched her from the washroom entrance as she wandered in and around the various piers, occasionally stopping to admire some of the larger sail boats. But slowly, ever so slowly, she made her way to the far end of the dock and Draco felt his breath quicken once again. She was headed towards _Onward_. She stopped in front of his boat and stared. Draco could feel his heart beating wildly and his palms begin to sweat.

She knows.

He panicked as he watched her watching his boat bob up and down in the incoming tide. What was she doing? He didn't see her remove her wand, which he knew from earlier was tucked into the lightweight jacked she wore, and she didn't seem to be doing anything other than staring at the ship. After what seemed like an eternity, Hermione left Draco's boat and began the slow walk back to the hotel. He watched as she slipped back in and though he waited for her to reemerge again, the night grew dark and the town grew quiet.

A growing sense of anxiety and confusion settled over Draco as he made his way back to his boat. He was confident, now more than ever, that Hermione Granger was sent to retrieve him. He couldn't stay here. He had to leave now or risk being found and dragged back to his old life. But what about Andreia?

He thought back to last night and inhaled deeply, already hating himself for the decision he knew he would inevitably make. He couldn't bring her. She would slow him down and worse, if he were caught he wasn't sure what the Ministry would do to a muggle who unknowingly aided a wanted criminal. He couldn't bring her but he needed to leave.

Draco climbed onto _Onward_ and quickly located his maps and navigation tools. He needed a plan and he needed to be smart about his next move. The way he saw it he had three choices: he could stay and continue dodging Granger until she became bored or convinced he didn't live on the island and leave; he could kill Granger but risk getting himself killed in the process or alerting any nearby wizarding community to the use of magic on the small muggle island; or he could flee to a new island and hope Granger wouldn't be hot on his heels. The third option seemed like the only viable one and so he got to work planning for yet another escape.

He worked through the night creating maps, double checking his supplies, and tuning up various aspects of the boat that would need to be in tip-top shape for his next journey. When the sun began to peak up over the ocean, he set out for town to collect final supplies. He gave Hermione's hotel a wide berth and once he had made all the necessary stops he made one final goodbye. He slipped a note under his front door and silently sent up a prayer that Andreia wouldn't hunt him down and castrate him once she realized he was gone forever.

As Draco made his way back to his boat he couldn't help but feel disappointed in himself yet again. Here he was, running. Again. Would it ever end? He had allowed himself to believe that ten years had been long enough and that the Ministry had given up. He had almost believed he could be happy growing old on this island, fixing boats, loving Andreia. But here he was again, running.

But he had to. Because as much as he was determined to find a new life for himself he was also just as terrified of facing the consequences of a life left behind. Consequences he would claim were unjust until his dying breath. He would not give the Ministry, or Granger, or any of them the satisfaction of seeing him carted off once again.

And then it happened, again. He wasn't sure if it was the sensation of magic nearby or the smell from a foreign land, but as he rounded the corner to _Onward _he came face to face with the reality that if he ran he would always be chased.

Hermione Granger took her eyes away from the boat and turned to face him. The automatic smile on her face dropped and her eyes grew. He could see she was shocked, outraged, but more than anything intrigued.

He dropped his supplies and stared back at her, convinced this was the moment he had worked so hard to avoid and yet longed for. The day he could stop running.

"Malfoy?"


	3. Part I: Chapter 2

A/N: So surprised and pleased to see people already following and favoriting this story! Hope you all enjoy this chapter and expect chapter 3 to drop late next week.  
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not owned by me

**Part 1: Somewhere off the coast of Brazil**

_Chapter 2_

In his panic Draco reacted before he could contemplate a suitable next step. Time seemed to slow down as he felt the magic bubble up in him, seeking an escape. He was all too familiar with this sensation and feared the inevitability of what would happen next.

Even before his name left her lips, Hermione was suddenly thrown back with violent force. He watched as her face contorted and the sickening realization that she was in grave danger hit. As if a cannon had been shot into her abdomen, Hermione flew backwards and smacked a wooden pole at the end of the dock with a force powerful enough to render her unconscious.

Draco stood there, frozen by the gravity of this new situation.

Hermione lay on the dock, crumpled into a hideous mass with limbs stretched into wholly unnatural angles. He rushed towards her, unaware of his actions until he was crouched down in front of her assessing the damage of his uncontrolled magic. She was unconscious. And there was blood.

His focus narrowed in on her lifeless body and he scooped her up easily, depositing her limp body below deck on the floor of the galley. He rushed into the head for his first aid kit and returned to find another pool of blood forming below her.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Merlin, fuck!" He allowed himself that moment of panic and then pushed his emotions aside to deal with the situation at hand.

The situation being a dead Hermione Granger in his boat.

He checked for a pulse and was relieved to find one, fading but still present. Her chest rose and fell unsteadily, her breath making a rasping noise as she inhaled. Definitely broken ribs and possibly a punctured lung.

He grabbed the first aid kit and rushed to put on the latex gloves. Just as quickly he did a head to toe assessment to determine where the blood was coming from: a gruesome open facture on her arm. Relieved it wasn't more serious, he wrapped her arm with gauze—careful not to jostle the exposed bone—and elevated her arm to stem the bleeding.

Her breathing became more labored and she began to cough up blood. Draco cursed but reached for the syringe he kept in his kit as well as the metal straw he'd grabbed from one of the kitchen drawers. He ripped her blouse open and immediately identified which lung could be punctured—the entirety of her right side was already bruising and he could see misshapen ribs below her skin. He felt for the area between two of her ribs, knowing how to find the spot with direct access to the lung below and pushed the large gauge needle through. As he pulled it out he slipped in the metal straw (and thanked Andreia for always finding ways to make his boating supplies more environmentally friendly) and watched as fluid trickled out of her lung. Already her breathing had substantially improved.

He noticed movement beneath her eye lids and watched as her unfocused gaze began to focus. Then the panic and pain set in.

"What's ha—" she stammered, wincing at the difficulty to breathe and speak.

"Don't move. If you move, you'll die." He was curt with her and despite everything he knew about her know-it-all, bossy ways, she seemed to recognize his authority and power over her life in that moment.

The worst of the injuries out of the way, Draco addressed smaller cuts and abrasions and began to treat her for shock. With her arm and lung addressed, Draco wrapped her in a blanket and quickly went to retrieve his magical first aid kit. He rummaged around the dwindling supplies of magical potions and salves before finding the few he knew would finish his first response. Unfortunately, his supplies were running dangerously low and he wouldn't be able to magically treat her fully until he managed to pick up more. Muggle aid would have to suffice for now.

He bent over her and began applying the appropriate salves and fed her what little magical potions he had to treat her internal wounds. Knowing the effects of the potions would temporarily add pain to what she must already be experiencing, he injected a small dose of morphine into her side. He watched as the bone from her broken arm slowly (and judging from her gasps, painfully) retreated back into her arm and the skin stitch itself together while the fluid dripping out of the metal straw slowly stopped. He pulled it out of her gently and watched too as that wound healed itself. Her ribs corrected themselves as well though the skin above them was still a deep purple and inflamed. He rewrapped her injuries and then injected antibiotics above her fracture, hoping the muggle medicine would fight off any infection the potions could not.

Satisfied with his work, he tried to make her more comfortable on the floor so that he could avoid moving her unnecessarily. He jumped back onto the dock and collected the supplies he had dropped as well as the small bag she had brought with her. Once settled back on the boat he crouched down beside Hermione's still, drugged form and waited.

For an hour he monitored her breathing, her pulse, and any other signs of life slipping from her. The salves had started to work and some inflammation had already gone down though bruises were cropping up all over. The morphine appeared effective as she remained lucid but calm. He checked for any head and neck injuries and was grateful to find none though he grew increasingly concerned that she may other internal injuries the potions could not address. Had she hit her head? Did he give her brain damage?

"Well if I've killed you I guess that sort of solves my problem," he mumbled. Her eyes began to focus in and her breathing quickened, as if she were waking up from a nightmare. Draco found himself leaning over her with his hands on either side of her head to keep her from moving should she begin to panic.

"Wha…what happened?"

"An accident. You're badly hurt but you'll survive. I need to you stay still for me, can you do that?"

"Malfoy? Malfoy? What happened?"

"I've told you—you're hurt but you'll survive. Breathe for me Hermione, just like I do," and he led her through some breathing exercises. Her eyes searched his wildly and he saw the fear behind them. But he didn't have time for that now, he needed to be sure she wasn't harboring any pain he hadn't already addressed.

"I'm going to do a full body assessment and I need you to tell me if you feel any pain outside the ordinary, okay? I have to make sure I didn't miss something. Tell me you understand what I've just said."

"I understand," she said quietly with tears in her eyes. "Am I dying?"

"No. You're going to survive. I'm going to start with your head, okay?" Over the next ten minutes Draco worked his way from Hermione's head all the way down to her toes. He poked and prodded, sometimes squeezing, other times seemingly tickling her. And while the last thing he ever thought he would do was feel every inch of Hermione Granger's body, the adrenaline pumping through his veins pushed him to confirm she was alright. When he placed both of his hands on either side of her torso she yelped and squeezed back more tears—it seemed he hadn't had enough of the bone mending potion to completely heal her fractured ribs—and when he placed his hands on her stomach, pushing and poking, he felt her tense. His hands dragged lower, over her hips and pubic bone, seeking out any tender spots but aside from squeezing her eyes shut and holding her breath it didn't seem like she had any injuries below her ribs. When he got to her feet he tested her reflexes and nerves, relieved to find everything in working order.

"Okay, no spinal or nervous injuries as far as I can tell but I'm worried you may still have a concussion so we'll need to monitor that. But I think for now we can move you."

"Okay, let me know when you're ready," she whispered back, pain still etched on her face. Draco rose to his feet and then crouched back down again, gently placing his hands under her shoulders and her thighs. Her eyes went wide when she realized what he was preparing to do. "What are you doing?!"

"I'm going to lift you and place you in my bed below deck. It's going to be a little cramped moving through the hallway so I'll need to you hook your arm around my neck and hold on."

"That's not what I meant! Where's your bloody wand! Levitate me you dolt!" Draco couldn't help but laugh a little. Hermione tensed both from the pain of raising her voice and likely from his response.

"I can't do that Granger. No magic. Come on, let's get you moved." He lifted her swiftly and heard her breath hitch in pain at the sudden movement but he figured it was better to get this over with quickly. He pivoted and started to make his way to the door leading down a few steps to his bedroom. It was going to be a tight squeeze with both of them but he did his best to make them as small as possible.

He was acutely aware of her grip on his shoulder, her nails practically piercing his skin, but he didn't say a word. Mostly because he was still hyper focused on how his own body was reacting to the entire situation. His heart rate had gone down considerably now that he knew he hadn't killed her but his breathing had quickened since he'd picked her up and he marveled at how light and delicate she felt in his arms, tucked against his hard chest. And she was incredibly tense. He looked down at her to make sure she was still breathing and momentarily forgot what he was doing when he saw big brown eyes looking up at him pleadingly.

"Don't you dare drop me or I'll kill you before I hit the ground," she hissed. So much for pleadingly.

"I've got you," he replied curtly. With the bed below them he gently placed her on top the plaid emerald green comforter and started to adjust some pillows to make her more comfortable. She watched him skeptically as he worked. Once he was done he bolted back up to the galley to retrieve the splinting materials from the first aid kit to ensure her broken arm wouldn't move. She eyed him as he approached.

"What are you doing," she asked. Her voice was a bit raspy, he imagined from the broken ribs and recently punctured lung. She didn't sound at all like she did in his memories. When he thought back to her voice at Hogwarts it was always in a much higher, deranged sounding pitch.

"I am going to put your broken arm in a splint so that you don't injure it moving or slow down the healing process. Don't move while I work," he snapped. For someone getting the royal fucking treatment she sure had a lot of doubts in his ability to nurse her back to health. He reached over her to get at a better angle to splint her arm and could feel her eyes boring into the side of his face.

"You smell awful," she whispered with disgust and a bit of wonder. He chuckled and looked down at her, smirking.

"Some of us were busy saving your life." That shut her up. Once he was done and satisfied with his work, he leaned back and did one final assessment of her body. As he did so the realization of what had occurred over the past 30 hours came flooding back.

"I um…I have to…I'll be right outside the door. Holler if you need something," he said quickly, itching to remove himself from the room and Hermione Granger's presence. He needed a minute to think. His plan has gone to hell and now he was even more screwed than before.

"What? No wait, Malfoy, I—" he closed the door before she could finish her thought. He rushed out to the deck of the boat and took stock of the dock. It was still early morning and no one was in the vicinity. The likelihood of someone having seen or heard what had happened was close to none. He took a deep breath. Okay, what else, he thought.

The blood. There was still blood on the dock and a steady trail up to his boat and to the galley. He set about cleaning and after some time was pleased to see any trace of an accident was long gone. Thankfully Granger wasn't so big that she put a dent in the dock pole. He wandered over to the bow of the ship and sat down with his legs dangling off, looking out into the horizon. He needed a plan.

When he finally, begrudgingly, arrived at one he made his way to the sails and began preparing the boat for departure. They moved smoothly through the marina and once he was far enough from the island he tethered his boat to a nearby buoy that passing ships and dive boats frequently used.

"It's now or never," and he strode back into the hull where he'd deposited a very injured but at least very alive (and ungrateful) Granger.

But what he saw made his blood freeze.

"Oh Merlin, Granger?!" He rushed to her side where she lay still as a board with her eyes closed. He knew she had a concussion and now she was in a coma or worse, dead. He placed his hands on either side of her face and shook it a bit. Her eyes flew open and he was met with the same shock and outrage he'd seen from her on the dock.

"What the bloody hell are you doing to my face Malfoy?!" He tumbled backwards, the adrenaline having resurfaced at full force.

"Bloody hell Granger! I thought you had gone into a coma or died on me!"

"Well…I hadn't! Don't touch me again!" From his seated position on the floor, his back against one side of the boat and her lying position on the bed, slightly raised, he couldn't help but feel utterly foolish and defeated. So he laughed. And he put his hands over his eyes and laughed some more. "What in Merlin's beard are you laughing about? This is no laughing matter Malfoy!"

"I know, I know," he coughed a bit, "it's just so bloody surreal. I never would have imagined this could happen. That they would send you and that you would have such freakishly good timing to find me just as I was leaving and that then you would barely survive my magic and that then I would be here, laughing on the floor. It's just bloody fucking unbelievable."

Silence descended on the boat and for a moment it seemed as though both Draco and Hermione would wake up at any minute from a horribly comical and unfortunate nightmare. But the boat continued to sway side to side with the gentle current and brown eyes continued to stare into gray.

"I can't take you back to the island," he finally announced. She sighed, almost as if she knew that to be the case already. "And I can't take you with me."

"What are you trying to say Malfoy," she asked quietly. He could hear the growing fear in her voice.

"I need to make a decision." He rose to leave but she reached out and grabbed his hand.

"Wait, please! Please, Malfoy. We can figure this out together. Don't do anything rash," she pleaded.

"Rash? Granger have you lost your mind? How can we possibly figure this out together? We want completely different things! I'm a criminal! And there's no bloody way in hell I'm going back to London with you and rotting away in a cell for the rest of my life. And I'm sure there's zero chance of me convincing you to leave me alone here. So how, pray tell, do you think we should figure this out _together_?" He pushed back his dirty blond hair and gripped it close to his scalp, ready to rip it out.

"There he is." Draco looked back at her and saw her stern gaze, so similar to their old professor's who routinely found ways of making him feel like a child in her classroom. "There's the selfish, cowardly Draco Malfoy I grew up with who would rather kill another human than take accountability for his actions. You really had me fooled for a minute, you know? Playing doctor, getting me comfortable for a recovery that looks to be cut brutally short. You're just as pathetic as I remembered." She turned her head to look out one of the hull windows, out onto the ocean.

Draco found himself gripping the sides of his shirt and could feel the blood rushing to his head. He could kill her.

He _should_ kill her.


	4. Part I: Chapter 3

A/N: Had a lot of fun writing this one ;) Enjoy! Chapter 4 will be coming at the end of next week.  
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and it's characters do not belong to me

**Part 1: Somewhere off the coast of Brazil**

_Chapter 3_

The sun was beginning to set over the ocean and Draco still hadn't come to a decision or ventured down into the hull to talk to Hermione again. Instead, he had spent the day running every scenario he could think of through his head and realizing that every time he came up screwed. He chewed the inside of his cheek and cast his line out again over the boat. He'd already caught enough fish for dinner tonight but repeated the motion out of habit and the need to feel productive.

When at last the sun disappeared and darkness descended over the water, Malfoy reeled in his line and brought the recently caught and gutted fish down to the galley. He hadn't heard a peep from Hermione all afternoon and while a part of him hoped she had simply died in her sleep, another part felt the urge to check in on her and make sure she wasn't rotting below deck.

He split the difference and instead began to work on dinner.

"I hope you eat fish!" he yelled down to her. When at first he didn't get a response he moved closer to the door and knocked on it. A loud bang came from inside followed by a gasp of pain. Sounded like she had thrown one of his books at the door. He smirked, taking some pleasure in her self-inflicted pain.

He fried up the fish and set to making some rice and beans. When he set two plates he dropped one off at the table and took the other into the bedroom. He despised eating in bed but the situation was a bit out of his hands at this point. When he entered the bedroom he did his best to ignore the daggers being shot his way.

"Here, eat this. There isn't any poison in it if that's what you're worried about," he remarked snidely.

"Even if there were I'm sure you'd botch the amount you imbecile," she replied just as snidely.

"Well then at least you'd be in a great deal of pain!"

"Oh you are such a little prick you know that Malfoy, if I had my wand I'd—"she abruptly stopped talking.

"You didn't bring your wand with you?" Draco looked at her with surprise.

"Of course I did! I just meant if I had it with me right this minute. I—"Draco rushed out of the bedroom and snatched the small pack he'd grabbed from the dock earlier. He quickly emptied its contents on the floor of the bedroom and looked up triumphantly and incredulously at Hermione.

"Ah ha! You are a terrible liar. What kind of an _imbecile_ comes to make an arrest without her wand on her? What, did you think your monstrous looks would frighten me into submission and I'd go willingly back to London?"

"I didn't know it was going to be you!" She yelled out, flustered. She hissed again in pain and gripped her broken ribs. Draco stared at her, silently begging her to go on. "I didn't know it was going to be you who owned this boat. That security guard, he told me the other day that there was one guy here who would take me where I needed to go for the right price with no questions asked. I…I didn't think it would be Draco—bane-of-my-existence, can't-even-stay-in-hiding-properly—Malfoy! I didn't think I _needed_ a wand," she whispered the last part and turned a deep shade of pink.

"Let me get this straight: you had no idea I was living on this island?" He sat down on the steps and placed his head in his hands. "Are you telling me you're actually just here on some weird research-related vacation and I just happened to be the captain you needed for a quick trip?"

"It's not a 'weird research-related vacation' Malfoy, I am here on official Ministry business! Which is none of your concern either!"

"I'm sorry I'm just realizing how fucking bloody cruel God must be to have put you on my island with zero knowledge of my presence here. What the bloody FUCK!" He yelled into the bedroom. Hermione cringed and rolled her eyes at his temper tantrum.

"So…what now? Are you going to kill me now that you know there's no way I can defend myself? I mean, I'm severely injured, trapped on your boat in the middle of the ocean, and stupidly without my wand."

"Eat your fish. And give me a moment to calm down." He got up quickly, suddenly needing to be anywhere but that bedroom, and left to go eat his fish. As he ate he thought about Andreia and how angry she must be—not just because he had ended things with her in the most chicken-shit way possible but because he was confident the world would somehow let her know that it was all part of some cruel plot against him and his happiness. But as he quelled his hunger and thought more about this new piece of information, a new scenario began to formulate in his mind. He stood and deposited his plate and the other dishes in the sink and grabbed two oranges before heading back into the bedroom.

Hermione had finished her entire dinner and if Draco wasn't mistaken the plate looked licked clean. He took a seat on the steps and began unpeeling one of the oranges.

"Okay, the way I see it this is just a series of truly unfortunate events that neither one of us can be held wholly accountable for," he started. She snorted. Very unladylike.

"I don't know Malfoy, you blasting me with magic and almost killing me seems entirely your fault. What curse did you use by the way?" He ignored her question, sidestepping a different conversation he felt unnecessary at this time.

"As I was saying, I think there's a scenario here where we both walk away with at least something we both want—and something both of us will have to give up." He paused to gauge her reaction.

"I'm sorry did you want words of encouragement?" He rolled his eyes at her. If he didn't know any better he could swear he had traveled back in time and was talking to a 13 year old version of Granger.

"I will help you accomplish whatever it is you need to do for the Ministry—the real reason you came down to my island—if you let me sail off into the sunset afterwards without reporting my location to the Ministry when you return. The way I see it, we both win that way. I don't have to kill you and you don't have to throw a former schoolmate into Azkaban." She snorted again and rolled her eyes. He got up and handed her the unpeeled orange before sitting back down and getting to work on his own. She looked down at the orange questioningly and then back up at him.

"Let's assume for the sake of argument that I agree with this plan. How in the world do you expect me to face Shacklebolt and the others knowing that I let you get away when Aurors have been scouring the world looking for you?" Draco raised his eyebrow. Scouring the world? He had thought they'd given up but apparently they were more determined than ever to find him.

"I think the better question is, how are you going to win my trust and reassure me you won't tattle on me once I let you go? Because if I can't trust you I might as well toss you overboard." Hermione paled. Draco smirked.

"Not to press my luck Malfoy but it seems to me that you're taking an awfully big risk letting me go back—assuming you don't kill me before I have the chance. Why are you doing this? Why would you trust me?"

"Well for one I don't trust you. But I do trust all that Gryffindor nonsense about bravery and loyalty. I figure if I help you and get you home safely, you won't betray me. See if the tables were turned I think you'd be jolly well fucked," he chomped down on an orange sliced and grinned.

"No, that's not it. At least that's not the only reason," she paused and touched her finger to her temple as if turning on that part of the brain that led to her breakthroughs. "Oh I know what it must be! You're too scared to kill me and too cocksure of yourself to believe we could ever catch you even if I did tell the others where you've been hiding out." She began to clap slowly. "Bravo Malfoy, _bravo_. You've really lived up to all that Slytherin nonsense about cowardliness and arrogance."

Draco ground his teeth together and tried with all his might not to rip the pillow out from under her and smother her to death with his bare hands. He took a few deep breaths and focused on the only solution he had managed to find that didn't completely fuck him over or compromise the few morals he had left.

"Okay," he sighed, resigned. "Okay maybe you're right about me. Maybe I don't want your death on my hands and maybe I am overly confident in my abilities to escape the Ministry. And maybe you do know me. But don't forget that I know you too. And I'm willing to wager my freedom on your misplaced sense of honor. I saved your life—and don't try to tell me it was me who put your life in danger in the first place, that's irrelevant—I _saved_ your life today. And I'm going to let you go back to your life in London with whatever thing you need to look good in front of your bosses. So don't try to tell me you don't owe me something in return." He stood and looked down at her bandaged form, weak and vulnerable before him. Her mouth slightly open and her eyes watering. She looked up at him, furious but defeated. She knew he was right. Just like he knew she was right. They stayed that way, looking at each other, daring the other to move first for a quite some time. And then Hermione yawned.

"Fine. You have a deal Malfoy. Now please just leave me be and let go to sleep." She tried to remove one of the pillows to make herself more comfortable but stilled when his hand gripped her wrist.

"No can do Granger. You have a concussion. You can't go to sleep for at least another 12 hours. So either you find a way to keep yourself awake or get ready to hear about the history and mechanics of sailing from yours truly."

"And how do you know that won't just lull me to sleep?"

"You know shit about sailing. Knowing you you'll probably get off learning something new." Hermione turned a deep shade of scarlet and glared at Draco. He laughed lightly and pulled a book off the shelf above the bed. "Here, something to read. If you need help staying awake, yell for me. I'll come check in on you periodically just in case you're too proud to admit you need my help." He turned to leave, grabbing another book for himself and her dirty dish from dinner.

"Malfoy, wait," she whispered, clutching the book to her chest. He looked over his shoulder at her, readying himself for another barb. "Thank you. For not letting me die. And for…I don't know…not killing me either." She smiled sheepishly and opened the book, burring her face in its pages. Draco walked back into the galley and kept the door slightly ajar. He finished cleaning up the dishes and then settled onto the bench and began to read his own book.

Xx

The night passed without incident and by early morning, after Draco had checked more of her vitals and given her another shot of antibiotics, Hermione was finally allowed to drift off into sleep. As she slept, Draco untethered the boat the set sail for the far side of the island. He knew they would need to stock supplies in the coming days but they had some time to get to the next nearest island before then. For now he would let her heal and learn more about what brought her to the island in the first place. After all, if he was going to ship her back to London with whatever it was she was looking for, he'd need to know some of the details.

As he sailed, taking his time to reach the other side of the island, he let his mind slip back into the familiar rhythm of moving his ship through the water. He let all his worries fall to the side as he focused on the sails and the wind, how he used his body to control the elements around him, and the feel of the ocean spray licking at his face. He would help Hermione so that he could keep this. This feeling. This freedom. There was no doubt in his mind that it was a worthwhile compromise.

Xx

"Malfoy?"

Draco slowly roused from his afternoon nap at the sound of Hermione's raspy voice calling up to him from below deck. He removed his hat from his face and got up, making his way down to the bedroom.

"What do you need?" He asked through a yawn.

"Well, um…I need to use the lavatory." She blushed. Draco straightened himself and considered his next words before speaking.

"Okay. It probably makes more sense to just have you shower and…relieve yourself…all at once. It may be more difficult to sit than to stand is what I mean." Now he was blushing a bit. He mentally kicked himself, trying to slip back into the healer mode he had so effectively embodied the other morning.

"Alright, fine. Could you help me stand? And you know…lead me to the lavatory?"

"The head."

"Pardon?"

"It's called a head on a boat. Lavatories are on land. On a boat you call it the head," he repeated robotically, still focusing on fighting the color that surely stained his cheeks.

"Oh. Yes. The head then." He made his way over to her bed and thought how best to set her on her feet. He resolved it would be easiest to pick her up and rotate her rather than pull her into a sitting position and help her stand. Without mentioning his plan to her he scooped her up and quickly rotated her so that her feet touched the ground. A small squeal was the only sign of her resistance towards his efforts.

When her feet were firmly on the ground, Draco wrapped his arm around her waist and used his other hand to steady her hip should she wobble from the rocking boat. She instinctively tried to move both her arms out to maintain her balance and hissed in pain when the broken arm moved too quickly.

"Don't move that arm," he said curtly.

'I know that you bloody prick," she spat. He raised an eyebrow at her and clicked his tongue. "Sorry. I really need to pee." He chuckled a bit and helped her move towards the head. They stopped at the small door and Draco realized they'd need a strategy going in. He placed her uninjured arm on the side of the boat so she could stand steady and ducked into the head. When he reemerged he began fumbling with Hermione's trousers before she slapped his hand away.

"Excuse me! What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm trying to get you out of these clothes so that you can wash and whatnot."

"I can do that myself!"

"Oh really? Try bending over. Go on." Hermione eyed him warily and then proceeded to bend forward ever so slightly. At about 15 degrees she hissed in pain and moved quickly back to her straightened position. She glared at him.

"My god could this be any more humiliating," she groaned through clenched teeth. "Alright fine. But I don't like this!"

"And you think I do? I have zero interest in being your nurse and giving you sponge baths and yet, here we are. So just be a good sport and suck it up." He noticed the worry and shame in her eyes and for a moment he considered just how awful he would be if their roles were reversed. He sighed. "I will do my best not to look and to be respectful. You have my word." He heard her snort. But she also relaxed a bit. He took that as the go-ahead.

Draco decided he'd start off slow and focus on her upper half first. He gently removed her blouse, still ripped open from when he'd had to drain her punctured lung, and decided to rip the remaining sleeve to make it easier to undress her. When she protested he reminded her that her blouse was covered in blood, sweat, and was already ripped. And he promised he'd give her another shirt to wear.

Next, he slowly removed the bandage from her torso exposing the black and blue bruises marking her broken ribs. She sucked in a breath when she saw the markings on her body.

"Holy hell Draco what did you do to me?" He once again ignored her question. Slowly he undid her splint and set aside the bandage there as well. Her wound was completely healed though caked in blood, bruised, and swollen. But on the whole a massive improvement from the day prior. He looked up into her eyes and tried to appear as calm as possible with his next words.

"Granger, I'm going to have to take off your trousers next. Once we've got those off we'll have to do your bra and knickers. I will do my best, and I promise I will really do everything I can not to see you. Okay? Please don't hit me. Once that's off I'll let you guide yourself into the head and I can yell out any directions for you if you need help using the shower. Alright?" She nodded curtly and squeezed her eyes shut as if he was about to crucio her. He rolled his eyes and crouched down in front of her.

He looked up at her, taking note of how rigidly she stood as though she was holding her breath and hoping this would all end sooner. Right there with you Granger, thought Draco.

He unbuttoned her trousers and pulled down the fly. He hooked his thumbs into the sides and gently started to pull down. He felt her tense some more and his progress halted. He pushed down a bit harder but still nothing.

"Erm, Granger. Again, don't hit me but I'm going to need you to relax a bit and maybe wiggle from side to side so I can get these trousers down. Please don't hit me." He heard her laugh a little and he found himself unexpectedly smiling. He had found a way to relax her a bit, despite the incredibly awkward situation they found themselves in.

She wiggled from side to side, as asked, and Draco quickly moved his hands to her bottom to pull down the trousers. When he realized what he had done his breath hitched and he felt himself turn bright red. He immediately removed his hands from her bottom and stumbled backwards against the wall. Hermione heard the commotion and opened her eyes to see Draco, on the floor, looking straight at her now exposed knickers. He looked up at her and saw her mortification. He tried to think of something, anything, to say to make this situation less awkward but instead just cast his eyes down, resumed his work on her trousers and then stood once the deed was done.

"I'm sorry about that. It's a reflex." Her eyebrows shot up. "Not like that, I just mean…well, you know. Look we got your trousers off without hurting you so all around a success." She laughed a little at his rambling.

"I hope that's not what you normally say to the women you undress." He stilled, suddenly thinking about Andreia and the hurt he must have caused her. Hermione tensed, perhaps realizing she had said the wrong thing to break the ice. "Well let's keep going. I still need that shower after all." He shook his head of the memories and refocused on the brown eyes in front of him.

"Right. Knickers and bra next," he winked at her and she rolled her eyes. "Here's my plan: I'm going to go behind you that way I don't see anything too horrific—ouch! No hitting!—and then I will turn around and let you hobble your way to the head. Alright?"

"Yes, fine. Let's just get this over with."

"Now that sounds much more like the kind of thing I hear when I'm with women." Hermione burst out laughing. She slapped her hand over her mouth and stared at him wide eyed, looking almost apologetic for her outburst. "I hope that was a laugh of incredulity because it was a joke."

"I'm sorry but that was actually rather funny," she looked up at him in amazement. He feigned hurt. "I'm serious Malfoy! I don't think I've ever heard you make a self-deprecating joke like that. It caught me off guard. Don't do that again or I might just think you're human."

"I'll take that as a compliment and assume you've always thought of me more as a god." He grinned at her, shocked at his own ability to make light of a situation with _the_ Hermione Granger. "Alright alright, jokes aside here I go."

He circled behind her and placed his hand over the clasp of her bra. It wasn't a particularly fancy bra—just nude in coloring, similar to her skin tone, and relatively conservative. But there was something unquestionably sexy about unclasping a woman's bra. Draco had to take several deep breaths to remind himself whose bra he was unclasping. Hermione twitched as he exhaled and his eyes shot up to the back of her head, worried that he'd unnecessarily hurt her.

"I'm fine," she seemed to sense his worry. "Your breath just startled me a little that's all," she whispered.

He swallowed and resumed his work. Her bra was quickly unclasped and, doing his best to look anywhere other than her bare back, he slid the straps down her arms and let her gather it. Still looking off to the side he slid down to his knees and tried not to think about the rather round bottom in front of him. But he couldn't help but notice Hermione wore the kind of knickers with lace and the intricate pale pink detailing distracted him from his promise to be respectful. "Malfoy?" whispered Hermione.

He turned to the side and slowly pulled her lace knickers down to the floor where they pooled around her ankles. He rose swiftly, still staring off to the side so as not to see her exposed body. He turned abruptly and walked several paces away while he heard her wobble into the head for her wash. A few moments later the water could be heard coming through the faucet and an audible sigh of pleasure escaped Hermione's lips. Draco stiffened.

He had never heard that noise come from her before. His thoughts went immediately back to the bra clasp and the way her slightly tanned skin stretched over her lean back. She seemed so fragile. He knew otherwise—from unfortunate experiences—but seeing her standing there, depending on him to help her, she seemed so fragile. And then the lace knickers. He rolled his eyes. Those knickers were going to haunt his dreams, he just knew it.

Andreia never wore knickers like those. He frowned. He missed her. And he felt this odd pang in his chest when he realized he'd just been thinking about Granger rather than Andreia. Was that guilt? Why did he feel guilty? He would never see Andreia again and Granger had been practically naked in front of him. It was natural that his male, heterosexual body would respond the way it had to seeing her. That was it. He hadn't betrayed Andreia in some way—that was ridiculous. He brushed that odd feeling aside and turned to collect Hermione's discarded clothes and bandages. He'd need to reapply those when she emerged from her wash.

"Malfoy?" he stilled upon hearing his name, certain that he had done something wrong again. "Um…could you come in here? With your eyes closed?"

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes, I just…well, I can't really do anything with my arms. The pain is a little overwhelming. I…oh Merlin this is absolutely mortifying."

"No, it's not. I'll be in to help however I can. With my eyes closed. Just tell me what you need." He entered the bathroom with his eyes closed, as promised. She had shut off the water and he could hear the water dripping off of her. He decided to think of anything else.

"I don't think the blood is coming out of my hair. I…I'm going to put some shampoo in your hand and I need you to just sort of scrub, alright?" This was significantly better than what he had imagined. He though she was going to ask for a sponge bath or something. But just washing her hair? That was impersonal enough.

"Sure. Just tell me where to put my hands." She snorted again. "Yeah yeah, I say that to every woman. We've already established I'm awful with women in your mind." He could practically hear her smirking at him. At least she wasn't trying to hit him.

He felt the gel in his outstretched hands then felt her head duck under them and raise them up. He scooted closer so that he could get a better angle on her hair and started to scrub. Her hair was a rat's nest. He assumed it was largely because of all the blood but knew that a bushy thing like that must always be a hassle to clean.

But slowly, as he worked the shampoo into her hair, the tangles lost some of their volume and he could better navigate her scalp as a result. Without realizing it, he began to rub into her neck and the tops of her shoulders, staying gentle so as not to aggravate any of her bruises. He pushed his fingers back up her neck and into the mess of her hair and then froze as the most seductive, feminine moan he'd ever heard broke through his trance.

He felt Hermione tense up, clearly aware of the noise she had just made. He took a deep breath, unsure of how to proceed. He realized he had opened his eyes and was now staring down at her sudsy mass of hair. His hands continued their work as he stared down at her, still feeling her tense from her earlier cry of pleasure. He stayed focused on her hair and though he could see the outline of her back and bum, he didn't dare take his eyes off the back of her head.

"Malfoy, I think we can wash the soap out now," whispered Hermione. He flinched at the raspy quality of her voice.

"Um, right. You'll need to turn on the water and get under it I suppose." He watched through hazy eyes as she stepped forward and turned on the faucet. He immediately began rinsing out her hair, well aware that the water was seeping through his own clothes. Just as he watched the final white suds slide down her hair he became acutely aware of the very naked, very wet woman in front of him. He felt his heart beat quicken and noticed he was holding his breath. Then, to his absolute horror, he felt himself grow hard and strained against his khaki shorts.

Draco launched himself backwards as if he were running from his arousal as fast as he could. Hermione whipped her head around to see what the commotion was and locked eyes with a positively horrified and aroused looking set of gray eyes. Draco fell to the floor, squeezed his eyes shut, and all but crab-walked out of the head, kicking the door shut on his way out.

In the bedroom, on the floor, he caught his breath. He stared down at his shorts and cursed himself, Hermione, and the god who put him in this awful situation. After a moment or two he gathered himself and went up to the deck of the ship into the blinding light of the afternoon sun. Still panting he yanked off his sodden shirt and quickly removed his shorts. Left only in his briefs he dove overboard into the cerulean waters of the South Atlantic Ocean. When he came up for air he floated momentarily on his back, staring up into the sun, and thinking only of Hermione Granger's lace knickers and wet naked body.

"Fuck."


	5. Part I: Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you for all the reviews, favorites, and follows! There will be another chapter next week and just to give you all a heads up it's looking like this will be a two part story around 14 chapters total (not including prologue and epilogue). Enjoy this one!  
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters do not belong to me.

**Part 1: Somewhere off the coast of Brazil**

_Chapter 4_

They ate their dinner separately that night, Hermione in the bedroom and Draco at the bow of the ship. He had found her back in bed (she had probably suffered a bit lying down on the bed but bless her for not forcing him to help after the afternoon they'd had) with one of his old sailing shirts on and the comforter covering her bottom half. He didn't ask what she was now using as pants.

They had made a silent agreement to never speak of the shower incident again but Draco almost caught himself commenting on how much better she looked now that she had had a chance to clean up. Her hair, still wet from the shower, draped over the side of her shoulder and her skin looked healthier than it had in the past 48 hours. She smelled nice too. He'd been sure to leave out the shampoo Andreia had always used. He wasn't sure if he had done that out of kindness to Hermione, whom he assumed did not want to smell like him, or for some sick masochistic reason to drive himself crazy with missing Andreia. Either way he had more than one reason to stay away from the bedroom.

As Hermione slept in his comfortable bed below deck, Draco fashioned his own bed in the galley by lowering the table and rearranging bench cushions. It was a little too crammed for him, his tall body and broad shoulders bent uncomfortably to fit on the bed but it would do. He could always sleep above deck if he wanted. But for now he thought it best to be closer to Hermione, in case she needed something in the middle of the night.

Xx

Over the next few days Draco and Hermione fell into a comfortable routine. After that first shower Hermione felt it would be better for her to deal with the slight discomfort and learn how to use the head without needing a proper shower and Draco found it easier to stick to the deck and work on the boat. It settled him to work and pick up a familiar routine. Sometimes he ever forgot that Hermione was just below deck, tearing through his entire library at a rapid clip.

He fished for them every afternoon and fried up the fish for dinner. She always cleaned her plate. He was worried he wasn't feeding her enough and when he offered her more fish she politely refused and claimed she was worried she'd gain more kilos if she kept eating like this. Stunned, he realized she was perhaps just being a polite guest and started giving her a more appropriate amount of food for a woman her size. She seemed to appreciate it and occasionally asked for a second helping.

After a few days Hermione was able to walk around the boat without assistance. She grew tired easily, however, and Draco had to help her find a comfortable spot to sit and relax. She refused to stay below deck all day and complained she'd get bed sores if he didn't let her stretch her legs. He only agreed because the last thing he wanted to do was clean up whatever mess a bed sore could leave behind.

A couple of days she spent the entire time sitting below the sails, shaded from the sun, and just staring out across the ocean. At first she would squeal with glee whenever flying fish or a sea turtle poked its head out of the water but once she realized Draco was less than enthused to be distracted from his work every so often she seemed to appreciate those sightings more privately.

Before either of them realized it, a week and half had gone by. Hermione was finally able to move her good arm above her head and the raspy quality in her voice had slowly disappeared. Draco took this as a sign that she was healing properly and wouldn't need further intervention.

Xx

One morning, as the two went about their usual routines, Hermione approached Draco on the bow of the ship.

"I think we're running low on supplies. We're completely out of rice and I noticed your first aid kit is practically empty," she blushed a little knowing she was largely to blame for the latter. "Should we go into town and pick up supplies?"

He considered her for a moment and then looked out towards his island. He had been avoiding this very conversation, knowing that they would need to go back to the very island he swore never to return to. Granted, that was before he had nearly killed Hermione and realized she wasn't there to arrest him. Still, he had been delaying the inevitable and wasn't sure how to handle seeing his old community again—more specifically, he wasn't sure what to do if he ran into Andreia or any of her friends.

"You're right," he finally said. "We'll go in tomorrow morning for supplies. I imagine you want to pick up your things from your hotel and anything else you might need to finish your job here."

"Well yes, that as well. I also need to contact the Ministry," she spoke so quietly he almost didn't catch that last word.

"No."

"Malfoy, please. I need to check in and let them know I'm still alive for heaven's sake!"

"I said no. Out of the question." He stood abruptly and rounded the boom as if trying to distance himself from her and her request.

'Malfoy please. You don't understand! If I don't check in—"

"Oh do me the favor and spare me your pathetic lies Granger! I know you just want to check in so that you can call for back up and rid yourself of me. I'm not Weasel you know, I can put two and two together!"

"Would you stop running away from me?" He rounded the bow just as had made her way to him. "Draco Lucious Malfoy stop right this minute!" He stilled and fisted his hands at his side, praying he didn't lose his temper and push her overboard. "You are being," she exhaled, "_rash_. I know you don't trust me and I'm not asking you to. But please let me explain." She waited for his consent to continue and took his silence as such. "I need to check in with my boss because I was already supposed to be back by now. Don't you see? If I don't contact them they will send a search party here and that will destroy our plan." He flinched when she said 'our plan'. He wasn't aware she had started to take some ownership over this plan until now. He was not entirely sure how he felt about this revelation. He turned to face her.

"Alright," he replied briskly. She immediately relaxed and looked up into his gray eyes with a silent thank you. He stepped up to her so that his body was only a breath away from her and looked her dead in the eyes. "But I want to be in the room when you make the call. No exceptions. And if I catch so much as a whiff that you're betraying me I will do everything in my power to make your last moments on this island the most painful ones of your life." She audibly swallowed. He let the cruelty of his words sink in and then went below deck, leaving her out in the morning sun.

He was furious as he entered into his bedroom. He slammed the door behind him. How could he let her sway him? He knew this was a trick. Not only would she be contacting the Ministry but she'd be gathering her belongings—and one belonging in particular scared him more than any other: her wand. Maybe he should force her to stay onboard while he gathered supplies. He'd tie her to the mast. Put a gag in her large mouth and leave her out in the sun while he snuck around town avoiding his ex. He groaned. He was on edge.

He had been trapped on a boat for almost two weeks with Hermione Granger. She had taken his bed, his medical supplies (including the last of some very hard to find medicinal potions!), and now she was taking away his sense of control over the entire situation.

He needed some kind of release. He stilled, questioning whether this was a wise decision. She could catch him. He would be mortified. But god if he needed this.

He quickly stripped out of his clothes and made his way toward the head. He washed in record time, scrubbing all the sea salt and sweat from his body and hair. If he was going into town tomorrow he couldn't draw attention to himself because of his stench. He glanced at the small mirror above the sink and scratched at the mediocre beard that had started to grow in. Unlike his sandy blond mop of hair his beard grew in platinum and remind him too much of his father. He'd shave tomorrow in Ganger's hotel room while she flooed her office.

He exited the head, naked and sat in the middle of the cramped room. He crossed his legs and mentally prepared himself. He needed this release. Desperately. He could feel it growing each day and having Hermione Granger on board was making it worse.

He closed his eyes and concentrated. He tapped into what he imagined to be the magic gathered in his chest. He visualized it growing and glowing within him and spreading through his abdomen, down his thighs, and to his toes. Reaching out into his arms and finally bubbling up through his head. He pictured himself a glowing ball of pure magical energy, an energy that had been building up for weeks without its usual release, desperately searching for a way out.

And just as he imagined it overwhelming his senses, he invited it to leave. It almost felt like apparating: as if his body were being pinched into itself and then flung through time and space. He felt his pent up magic constrict on itself, almost as if it refused his invitation to leave, and then burst from his chest desperate to be out in the world. The air around him hummed with magical energy and he instantly felt calmer, could think more clearly, and even felt physically more aware. He carefully unfolded his legs, stretched, and then pulled a pair of clean briefs on before donning some loose sweats and the rare short sleeve he kept lying around.

As he exited the bedroom, feeling refreshed and centered, he ground to a halt when a very shocked and confused looking Hermione Granger stood before him.

"What in the name of Merlin's beard did you just do?" He sidestepped the petite brunette and made his way up to the deck.

"I washed. It's my ship after all and I'm allowed to use the head just as frequently as you do."

"Malfoy that is not what I am referring to. What in the world was that…_energy_?" He took a deep breath, determined to avoid her questioning for as long as humanly possible.

"It was none of your concern. I need to tune up this mast before we make port tomorrow so unless you'd like to—"a shoe hit his head. A flip flop but still a shoe. He grimaced and turned to face Hermione. Expecting to see the little witch huffing and puffing, he was surprised to see a huge smile displayed on her face and eye alight with excitement.

"Malfoy, are you _purging your magic_?" She sounded almost giddy. He made a face and went back to inspect the mast. "Malfoy, I'm serious!" She bounced around the mast so that she could look him in the eye again. Her giddiness had not dissipated. He rolled his eyes and groaned, knowing she would bother him relentlessly if he did not give her at least something to chew on.

"I prefer to think of it as _releasing_ my magic. Purging sounds disgusting." She jumped up and down and he had to stop himself from simply pushing her overboard, knowing that the fall could re-break her ribs. Although now that he thought about it…

"Malfoy this is amazing. Truly amazing! You know you are the first person I've been able to find who can successfully purge—I'm sorry, _release_—their magic without losing all magical abilities! Merlin you're exactly what I've been looking for!" She almost hugged him but stopped, her giddiness marred by a moment of awkwardness when he saw her gaze dart down to the faded tattoo on his left forearm. He shifted a little and moved his arm around the mast so that the Mark was hidden. He briefly scolded himself, silently remembering that his past would always haunt him.

"What are you blabbering on about? Why in the world would releasing some magic cause me to lose all of it?" She looked up at him confused.

"You mean you haven't heard? I just assumed you didn't care about the risks and were experimenting to figure what happened to your par—"she quickly shut her mouth and turned swiftly away from him. Intrigued, he reached out for her arm and pulled her back to face him.

"My what? What are you talking about Granger? Talk. Now." She looked up at him worriedly and for the first time since they had made an agreement to help one another, he felt a sense of dread wash over him. "Please," he pleaded.

She took his hand in hers and together they sat below the mast, her usual spot when she was on deck. Any trace of her judgment regarding his Dark Mark and his past gone as she held his left hand and placed another hand on his knee. Draco was painfully aware that she was comforting him. About what he couldn't be sure but as each second crawled by his anxiety heightened and the physical contact between them seemed to intensify.

"Malfoy, I thought you would have heard. I thought maybe it was the reason you never came back to London."

"What are you talking about Granger? Just spit it out!" Hermione bit her lip and then grabbed his other hand and squeezed it.

"Draco, your parents are gone." The words hung in the air for a moment as Draco took in the enormity of what she had just told him.

And she had called him by his given name. Odd.

"I'm so sorry I truly thought you knew." She squeezed his hands again as if trying to get him to speak. He just stared at her through glossy gray eyes. She waited a moment, hoping he would speak, and then continued with her story.

"It was a few years after the War had ended. Your father was still serving his time in Azkaban and your mother, well she was actually doing quite well. I remember she hosted a number of charity events at your Manor and she was slowly being welcomed back into society, so I'm told," Hermione blushed a little as though she were divulging a secret only women were allowed to know. "It happened quite suddenly really. You see, a few of the younger Death Eaters had been released. Mostly our classmates. Oh merlin you don't know this either do you? Well, Parkinson—you two were close at some point, right?—she was the first to be released on good behavior and it was only a few days later that the Aurors found her body."

Draco tensed. Pansy. He drew in a quick breath. Hermione waited, again hoping he would say something but continued, feeling it would be best to rip off the Band-Aid rather than drag this sad story on.

"When they found her body they noticed something odd. She was completely depleted of her magic. It was just gone. Normally when a witch or wizard dies their magic remains and it's both seen and felt, scientifically I mean. Anyways, hers was just gone. Rumors spread that there was a Death Eater killer running amuck but no suspects ever panned out. Things got worse when more and more of the newly released Death Eaters were found in similar…um…conditions. Their magic completely gone. Draco it happened in a manner of weeks. Wizarding London was hysterical. And your mother, true to form, remained calm. She continued with her charity functions and she continued to visit your father in Azkaban. And then one night, they found her."

"No."

"Draco I'm so so sorry. I thought you knew." He blinked away the tears that pooled in his eyes and looked back into hers. He saw her concern, her compassion, and maybe even her guilt for being the one to break this news to him.

"And Lucius?"

"Gone." Again, her words hung heavily in the air before them. He turned his gaze back toward the horizon, squinting into the afternoon sun. "We found him in his cell, taking his last breath. We thought maybe it was the time in Azkaban but Draco, he was the clue we needed," she squeezed his hands. Willing him to come back to her.

"Clue?" He blinked and turned back to face her. He saw the pity in her eyes and he hated her for it. He hated himself for running. And if he could just find the will to stand up and walk away he would but her pity trapped him.

"As he was dying a surge of energy was released from his body. We didn't know what had happened. Harry thought it was a bomb or something. When we checked his body though it was the same as the others: devoid of all magic. Draco don't you see? Wizards and witches have been purging themselves of their magic. Or something—or someone—has been forcing them to purge. And it's killing them."

"What?" Draco blinked furiously and gripped her hands unaware of the pain he may be causing her. "How is that possible? I do it and I'm perfectly alive! How is that possible Granger?! Tell me!" He forced himself to his feet and began pacing the length of the bow. Hermione remained seated trying her best to calm him.

"I'm not sure Draco! You're the first living wizard I've met who is able to survive a release. I came down here because I had traced some research to this area. There are manuscripts that describe an entire community releasing their magic and living on as muggles. Having children who are born as muggles. They completely stripped themselves and their descendants of their magic forever!"

"Wait," Draco came to stop in front of her, "you're telling me that releasing your magic can fundamentally alter your DNA?" Hermione looked up at him, baffled. "I read Hermione I'm not an idiot! Just because I'm a pureblood doesn't mean I'm blind to the world out there. So answer me. When they found my mother, and my father, and the others, were they muggles?"

"It's difficult to say. There hasn't been much medical testing—blood testing—done in the magical world so it's never been clear if there was a genetic difference between purebloods and muggles to begin with. Just a social one," she said meekly.

"But now you know. Or at least you have a hunch Hermione," she glanced up at him, perhaps as shocked as he was to hear her given name roll off his tongue so easily.

"I mean yes, of course I have hunches. But none of those are going to bring back your friends, your family."

"I'm not a child Hermione I understand the permanence of death," he snapped. She rested her hands in her lap and looked down, scolded. Despite himself he instantly felt regret and kneeled down in front of her, imploring her to go on. "Hermione. Please, I need—help me, please." She bit her lip sensing for the first time the desperation and despair in his voice. She couldn't imagine being able to carry out a conversation like this if she'd just learned her parents and a handful of friends were all dead. Killed by the very thing he so casually experimented with on a boat, of all places. But she could understand his need for information—to answer that one burning question: why?

"My hunch? That magic is a recessive gene. Like blue eyes. It's impossibly rare and sometimes even the people who carry it don't physically manifest its traits. But they can still pass it along. What happened to your parents—what you're doing—is altering a part of your genetic composition. You're rooting out a gene. And maybe, contrary to what we've believed over the past few years, there's a way to survive that release. And maybe, just maybe, you and this island hold the key."

"The key." Draco rose smoothly and walked away from her, recognizing the dangerously inquisitive stare pulsing from Hermione's eyes, buried beneath the pity he still saw. Suddenly it dawned on him.

"Say it Draco," she pleaded with him. Tears began to form in her eyes even as she looked at him with fascination, like a child holding a new creature it had discovered for the first time. He could sense the battle raging within her as all the pieces started to fall into place. She came here looking for a clue, a key, maybe even a cure. She agreed to part ways with him if she could find it, if he could help her. And in yet another, cruel twist of fate, he'd done more than point her in the right direction. He knew what was at stake if Hermione didn't figure out the mystery of magical purging just like he knew the insufferable Gryffindor would gladly sacrifice one for the greater good. Even if that one had saved her life.

"You're never going to let me go, are you?"


	6. Part I: Chapter 5

A/N: Enjoy :) Please review and follow for weekly updates! And check out a new one shot I just posted called Three Meters. It's a story about Astoria and Draco, book compliant and taking place in what would have been Draco's seventh year. Let me know what you think of that one as well!  
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters does not belong to me.

**Part 1: Somewhere off the coast of Brazil**

_Chapter 5_

"You have to understand that you could save countless lives. The lives of your friends! You could be the key that unlocks our understanding of magical genetics!" Draco looked at her incredulously. He could tell she was horrified by her role in all this but her excitement was palpable. She wasn't shying away from this either.

"You want to experiment on me."

"I just want to better understand how you're doing it, what's going on in your body—"

"So you're going to cut me up? You're going to throw me in Azkaban for my crimes, take away my freedom _and_ my body?" He stood and walked away from her. "I can't let you do that Hermione." He stilled as he looked out at the horizon. The sun was beginning its slow decent, the sky turning pale orange, pink, and red. He sighed, suddenly exhausted. Their earlier argument, the drain of the release, the revelation about his parents' deaths, and now this inevitable betrayal. But he couldn't even blame her. She was right after all. He could be the key to something that could save lives. He almost cringed at the possibility of being hailed a hero.

He felt her hands press lightly against his shoulders and he tensed. She moved them slowly to either side of his torso and urged him to face her. He begrudgingly complied but kept his gaze above her head, determined not to look her in the eye.

"I know what you're thinking Draco." He snorted in response but she pressed on, "I know you think I'm a monster. And I know you think I would sacrifice your freedom for a discovery like this one and I'll be honest, it's difficult not to think about the greater good here." He moved to turn from her but she brought her hands up to his chest and bunched his t-shirt in her fists, forcing him to look down at her. "You saved my life."

He still. Her earlier excitement had faded. All he saw were deep, endless wells of concern and compassion in her eyes. He swallowed back some emotion he could not name.

"I am not going to turn my back on that. I am not forcing you to make a decision here. But we need to talk this through and we need to come up with better answers. Please. If you can help, please help. And if you can't—"her breath hitched and he saw her fighting an internal battle. He knew deep down she would sacrifice him, of all people, for the opportunity to save potentially thousands. He knew she would have to make a decision if any answers they found out here didn't sate her curiosity. She would be tempted to drag him back to London, to her lab, to her resources. And the only way he could avoid that—definitively avoid that—was if he killed her. Here and now. Before she was able to share her findings. Before she could reveal that she had found the key and that it was conveniently stored in a wanted criminal whose rights didn't matter.

He knew she knew this as well.

"Please Draco. Trust me. You saved my life." Her eyes gleamed with tears that refused to fall. "I wouldn't turn my back on yours. We'll find another way," she promised.

He looked down at her. She held his life in her hands. But first he held hers in his. The stakes had been raised on their previous agreement. In order for this to work, she needed to trust he would help her. And he needed to trust she would protect him in the end.

He just wasn't sure if he could do that.

"Hermione I need…I need space. I need some time to think." She hiccupped and a few tears streamed down her face. He wanted so badly to reassure her that he would never let anything happen to her, even at his own hand, but he knew he couldn't make that promise. He didn't trust her to uphold her end of the bargain if things went south.

He covered her fists with his hands and gently tugged them free of his shirt and side-stepped her. He made a beeline for the bedroom and left her up on the deck, watching the sun set over what she thought could be her last day.

Xx

The next morning Draco woke up in his own bed for a change. Hermione was nowhere to be seen and he was starving, having skipped dinner entirely. He made his way to the head and cleaned himself up, noticing briefly that his eyes were red and puffy from the tears he had allowed himself to shed over his lost parents and friends. When he stepped out of his bedroom he was shocked to find Hermione in the kitchen, over the small stove top. He watched her shift her weight from leg to leg, still clearly getting used to the gentle sway of the boat or perhaps still finding it difficult to stand for long periods of time. She had managed to secure her bushy curls back into a low pony tail (the braid was still a no-show while she could barely lift her arms over her head) and her ever lightening chestnut hair cascaded down the back of what he recognized to be an old t-shirt of his. Her legs were bare and tanned. She had gotten some sun while aboard his boat. He noticed unintentionally how each time she shifted her weight the extra-large t-shirt clung to one side of her bottom. He remembered her lace knickers, confident she was wearing them now, and felt his body riot against his better instincts. Now was definitely not the time for that.

He cleared his throat and she spun around with a spatula in hand and hissed at her sudden movement. He rushed over to her side, inspecting her ribs.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. You just startled me and I moved too fast. These ribs are killing me." She looked up into his gray, puffy eyes and smiled a little. He noticed her eyes were also a little red and puffy from tears. They stood like that for a moment before they both smelled something burning. "Oh bloody hell!"

Hermione turned back to the stove top and tried to salvage the hot cakes she was cooking up while Draco slowly backed away and made his way up to the bow of the ship. The sun was already well above the horizon—he'd slept longer than he had expected—and he was already thinking about their impending trip to the island. He drew in a shaky breath as the memories of yesterday came rushing back to him. Just as he was losing himself in all the new information Hermione had dumped on him, he felt her presence on the deck. He turned and saw her approaching with a plate weighed down with at least 20 hot cakes. He cocked an eyebrow and smirked.

"Are you trying to fatten me up?"

"Just paying you back for all the dinners you cooked me." She smiled shyly up at him.

They sat together on the bow, enjoying the morning breeze and the silence between them. But, as Draco had learned over the past two weeks, Hermione was not a silent kind of woman.

"I know we have a lot to talk about in regards to…well, my life but I was wondering if you could answer a question for me."

"All right, you've piqued my interest: what's your question?"

"What have you been doing these past ten years?"

"Preening, mostly." Hermione snorted and picked up a hot cake. After a few bites she tried him again, adopting that serious face Draco knew all too well from their school days.

"It's just…you're very different from how I remember you. I mean physically obviously," she paused, bit her lip, and blushed. Draco found himself sitting up a little straighter and then inwardly cringing at his reaction to her semi compliment. "But it's more than that. You've still got a temper, don't get me wrong, but you're more level headed than I remember. And funnier. Which is very off putting." He chuckled.

"Well it seems to be the easiest way to cut through some of our more um, awkward moments."

"See that's odd as well. The Draco I knew in school wouldn't have cared if I felt awkward around him. Hell, he probably would have loved it. But now you're…I don't know, considerate? I'm not sure if that's the best way to describe it but you're just much more thoughtful than before."

"Well maybe you never saw me being considerate before now."

"Oh. I hadn't thought of that," she rubbed her brow furrowed, "that's a good point."

"No one did, to be fair. Maybe Pansy. She's—was—"he turned away from her and looked towards the stern, lost in thought. Not sure how to bring him back, she picked up another hot cake and looked towards the bow. "You've changed as well you know." She turned back to him, interested in his assessment of her and relieved to see he had recovered from whatever memory had pulled him away. "Physically, of course—"it was his turn to blush now, "but you're also not as big of a know-it-all." She pushed him playfully and feigned hurt.

"I was not that bad!"

"You have a very biased opinion of yourself. You were _awful_." He laughed when she smacked his chest and then had to shake out her hand from causing herself more pain.

"Well I don't appreciate or agree with that assessment."

"I'm just telling you what I've noticed. You've become more humble. And you're also more patient. With me at least. And I know full well how difficult that must be for you. And I appreciate it." She smiled at him and took another bite of her hot cake. "So what do you want to know about these past ten years?" Her eyes lit up and he couldn't help but roll his eyes and grin.

"Oh where to start. Um, okay, when did you start sailing? And where have you traveled? Oh oh, and what's been the best food you've had so far?"

They spent the rest of the morning sharing stories of their past ten years apart and even correcting the other's stories about the seven years prior. He told her about the number of times he's been smacked in the head by the boom and she told him about all the awful colleagues she's had to deal with while working at the Ministry. He like her impression of a certain Millstred Brigosh the most but laughed at all her impressions. She asked him about life on the run and he showed her some of his scars from fending off Aurors, thugs, and bounty hunters. She was particularly impressed to hear that he had done all of this without the use of his wand. He quickly explained to her that after a year of fending off Aurors he realized his use of wand was drawing them to his location and figured they must have activated some sort of trace; hence the general lack of magic in his life. She marveled at his fluency in muggle gadgets and topics and even tested him once or twice.

When the topic of his parents came up—specifically how pleased they would be he had finally taken up sailing—she waited patiently while he collected himself.

"That's been the hardest part, I think. Leaving them behind," he whispered into the breeze that rocked the ship below them. She studied him and recognized a shared shame.

"They must have known we had our reasons." He glanced up at her, ready to correct her when he saw a familiar wistfulness. He wanted to ask her about her own parents but thought better of it and just nodded. They stayed that way—her, looking out toward the ocean and him, studying her features—for a few moments. Perhaps for the first time he really noticed just how many freckles and laugh lines she had.

"So," she said, redirecting the conversation and noticing their triumphant success over the pile of hot cakes, "who's the woman you're clearly heartbroken over?" He smiled sadly at her. He debated telling her some lie to avoid divulging too many of his secrets but found himself wanting to share this with her.

"Her name is Andreia and I think she may have been the love of my life," he said blankly. Hermione's eyes widened.

"And she was—sorry, is—a muggle?"

"Yes. She also has no idea I'm a pureblood prick who absolutely despises muggles," he smirked but then found himself sad once again.

"I'm sorry, I can tell it's difficult for you talk about her. We don't have to if you don't want to. And it's really none of my business I didn't mean—"

"No, I think I need to. I met her when I first got to this island. She works at this café you see, in town, and I was trying to get my barring straight. I had been—interacting—with muggle women long enough to know when they're flirting with me." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I can't imagine how it's any different than how witches flirt."

"Well that just goes to show that I am much more observant than you are. See witches are a bit coyer. I don't know if it's because our society is a bit more traditional but I've found that with witches you have to really read between the lines more often than not. But with muggles it's so much more obvious. And direct. Which, as a man, is wildly helpful." He grinned and Hermione, despite her best efforts, found herself grinning back at him.

"So what did she do that made it so obvious to you that she was interested?"

"Well for starters she asked me out." Hermione burst out laughing. Draco looked affronted.

"You are ridiculous! That's not flirting that's just being direct! Witches do that too you know."

"Well certainly not the witches I grew up around. Anyways, we started to see each other more frequently and she started coming to the docks every so often. One thing led to another and she asked me to move in with her."

"Wow, Draco, that's a huge step. But weren't you worried about what you would do when you had to leave for a new island?"

"If I'm being honest with myself I thought about that every day. And every night I just pushed it aside. I kept putting it off. Suddenly three months became six months. I was living with her, paying rent with her, even feeding her cat. It felt…comfortable I guess. She made me comfortable. And I hadn't felt comfortable in over a decade." Silence engulfed them while Draco's words sunk in. The breeze picked up and the sails puffed up, dragging the boat one way and then the next. It would be time to set sail for the island soon.

"I think I know what you mean."

"I doubt that." Hermione took a deep breath, reminding herself that getting into another argument with him was not going to do either of them any good. So she waited for him to explain. "It was comfortable because for the first time I didn't have to burden someone with my past."

"Oh."

"I see the way you look at me. It just—it just feels so _heavy_ after a while."

"The weight of our past?"

"Yeah. With her it was simple. It was _now_. But this—"he gestured to the space between them, her eyes widening a bit at the notion that whatever they shared was comparable to his previous relationship, "—this is definitively uncomfortable. And complicated."

"Draco, what is this?" He chuckled.

"Stockholm syndrome?" She glared at him and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"So are you nervous about going back to the island? About potentially seeing her?"

"Yes and no. Knowing my luck I'll run into her and get the worst public shaming of my life but I also kind of think, knowing my luck, I'll never get to see her again or hear her call out my name. Well, I guess it wasn't really my name—"

"You didn't tell her your name? What in the world did you go by?"

"Harry." Hermione's grin stretched impossibly far.

"Oh I have to tell him that. He's going to just die." He smiled at her, happy to have made her laugh. He looked up again at the sails and something inside him urged him to start moving. To capture that freedom sailing brought to him. "We have to go, don't we," asked Hermione.

"We need the supplies. And you need to make contact with the Ministry." He heard her sharp intake of breath and knew what she was thinking. If he was going to kill her, now would be the time. He had been thinking long and hard about it and was about to open his mouth when he felt her hands close around his. He looked down into his lap and her small hands. Calloused just like his.

"I've been thinking, as a show of good faith, that I would stay onboard while you got supplies. I can write a telegraph and have you send it to Ginny. She knows who to owl. I'll just tell her I'm taking off some well-deserved time. Merlin knows she'll defend my decision if any of my colleague pester her with questions."

Draco stared at her a moment and felt a constricting sensation in his chest. Similar to the way his magic felt before he released it—as if the feeling was begging to stay inside and didn't want to come out just yet. He nodded and smiled.

"I would appreciate that. If you want, you can write down all the things you need from town and I'll pick them up for you. We'll be getting at least a two week supply so plan ahead."

"Oh wow, two weeks? And what were you planning to do during those two weeks," she asked sheepishly.

"Well I was thinking we could put our heads together and try to crack this "magic purge" mystery. Maybe get you the information you need to make some headway when you go back to London." He was careful to exclude himself when he reminded her of her return. She looked into his eyes and recognized his silent question. She nodded.

"I would really appreciate that."


	7. Part I: Chapter 6

A/N: Heads up that this is one of the chapters that warrants the "M" rating for sexual content. The last chapter of Part I will be uploaded next week so stay tuned!  
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters do not belong to me.

**Part 1: Somewhere off the coast of Brazil**

_Chapter 6_

Draco returned to the dock just as the sun was setting. He was weighed down by the fresh supplies and Hermione's charmed pack and book bag from the City Archives but was in a good mood as he made his way back to _Onward_.

As he expected, he had not seen Andreia or even any of her friends in town. He faced little difficulty in getting into Hermione's hotel room, sending her telegram, or procuring all the supplies on the extensive list she had created. Women had a lot of needs. And he was a little embarrassed by the number of spices and herbs on her list—was this a commentary on his cooking abilities? As he made his way through the docks he found he was unexpectedly excited for tonight's dinner. It was silly but he had managed to procure some special ingredients that he thought would remind Hermione of home. He was looking forward to her smile.

Draco stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the image before him, waiting for him at his docked boat. He quickly hid behind one of the docked Schooners and peaked out to assess the situation. What he wouldn't do for an invisibility cloak or some of the Weasly's Extendable Ears.

Hermione was standing on the deck of his ship speaking to an older gentlemen in dark robes. Even if Draco hadn't been a wizard he would have recognized the man as an outsider. He looked vaguely Brazilian—though in his experience that pretty much covered any physical trait imaginable—and he was speaking hurriedly to Hermione. He watched as she leaned casually against the mast on her side with her broken arm and gesticulated wildly with her uninjured arm. She spoke animatedly and smiled often at the intruder. After what seemed like an eternity the man gave her a short bow and then turned and disappeared. He watched as Hermione slowly slumped down the side of the mast and placed her head of bushy hair between her knees. Draco, convinced the wizard was gone for good, raced to his boat with the supplies.

"Granger. Explain." At the sound of his voice her head perked up and he saw her face was already moist from tears. His heart sank and for a moment he had the instinct to run in the opposite direction, believing she had finally betrayed him. But something stronger told him to hear her out.

"They sent an Auror from the Brazilian Ministry to check-up on me. Something about my 'failure to update' and some misplaced concern for my safety. I thought—I couldn't let him take me away." She crawled over to the edge of the boat and rather ungracefully managed to climb over to the dock and swing her arms around his torso, burring her head in his chest. He looked down at her, shocked. He wasn't quite sure how to react to this kind of display from Hermione Granger of all people. Yet, without realizing his actions, he wrapped his arms around her shoulder and pulled her impossibly closer.

"Tell me what happened."

As Draco sailed the boat and its new load of supplies to a nearby buoy, Hermione recounted how she heard a pop on the dock while she was sunbathing and waiting for his return. The man had been assigned by his superior to stake out the island and inquire after her well-being. After visiting her hotel earlier that morning and learning that all of her belongs were still in her room and that the bill had yet to be paid, he assumed she must be out and have lost track of her time on the island paradise. He figured she would be enjoying the sea and when he popped over to the local dock and inquired after a women of her description, the marina's security guard had put her disappearance and the travels of _Onward_ together and directed the gentlemen to Draco's recently docked ship. She explained to him that he was indeed correct in assuming she had lost track of time and she assured him she was fine and planned on checking in with her superiors in the morning.

Draco sat back and surveyed her face once she was done with the tale. He couldn't sense any deceit and given her reaction earlier on the dock he was loath to believe she was lying to him. He squeezed her hand.

"Do you think he believed you?" She bit her lip.

"I think so but you're always saying what an awful liar I am. What if he could tell something was off? Draco, what if he knows about you or informs the Ministry back home? I don't know what to do." She looked into his eyes pleadingly. Draco had to step back from the situation for a moment and just appreciate that for the first time in her life—well, at least the life Draco had seen—Hermione Granger was not only admitting she didn't have the right answer but was counting on him of all people to provide it. He wasn't sure if he should be flattered or concerned.

"Hermione, it sounds like you did everything you could do. But I wasn't there. And I don't think I'm the right person to make a decision here. What do _you_ think we should do?" She blinked twice, clearly taken aback by his reply. She recovered from her surprise and slipped on a facial expression he knew well as a plotting expression. This was a more familiar Hermione. Her eyes darted all around her and he could see the pieces coming together in her mind.

"We need to get out of here. They'll know something's wrong, I can feel it. We need to get out of here as soon as possible or they're going to find us." Draco exhaled, cursing their luck.

"We could leave now but I've never sailed at night. The conditions are rougher and without your help we could be putting ourselves in serious danger. We'll head out at first light. I've already drawn up plans on where to go next and we have plenty of supplies to last us through the journey." He turned towards her and instinctively reached out and put his hand on her knee. "Thank you Hermione." She nodded.

Xx

There was a palpable tension in the air that night on the boat. Though they had tethered themselves to a buoy well beyond the marina, the fear of capture weighed down both Draco and Hermione. Even Draco's surprise English breakfast dinner couldn't lift either of their spirits. After the meal, Hermione excused herself and he could hear her turn on the faucet for a wash. He cleared the plates and continued to reorganize the supplies so that they were properly stored for a long day of sailing come dawn.

He began to lower the kitchen table and rearrange the cushions for his makeshift bed when his thoughts wandered to the last time he made a hasty escape. Those same feelings of guilt, fear, and determination flooded him and he welcomed this odd cocktail like an old friend who had been gone for too long. So much from the past two weeks had been wildly unfamiliar territory for him and though his heart and his mind were still processing the events that had taken place, feeling these familiar emotions—though unwelcome—gave him confidence. He had dealt with these in the past. He had escaped before and he knew how to lose a tail. They could do this.

But then there was Hermione. She was a new twist. He had never run with someone else in tow. It had always just been him out there. But now she was coming with him. The ridiculousness of the situation was not lost on him: he had considered bringing along Andreia only to leave her behind for her protection and then found himself dragging along another, now for his own protection. Because at the end of the day Draco needed Hermione.

Maybe he had always known it but it was with sudden clarity that he admitted to himself he could never kill her just to avoid capture. Freedom wouldn't be worth the guilt and shame he would feel knowing he had used her to obtain it. Plus there was the fact that he couldn't imagine a world without a Hermione Granger. She was one of a kind. And as much as he needed her he wasn't so blind and selfish to think others didn't need her as well.

He would run with her. If she wanted to follow. If not, he trusted she would keep his whereabouts safe. He smirked. He trusted her. Just like that. Somehow over the past 24 hours it had happened.

He heard the faucet shut off and listened as Hermione settled in for the night. He turned off the light in the galley and curled up in his own bed. He hoped morning would come quickly so that they could begin their next chapter.

Xx

Draco's eyes fluttered open in the darkness. It seemed like only a moment ago he had put his head down but the heaviness in his head suggested sleep had clung to him for some time. Why was he awake?

"Draco?" Her voice. He sat up sharply and scanned his environment for any danger, ready to act however she needed him to.

"What's wrong?" She stood in the doorway of his bedroom, his extra-large shirt swallowing her petite frame but her bushy locks running wildly down her shoulders. He quickly walked over to her searching for something that pained her. Was it her ribs? Her arm maybe? Was she hungry? He searched for signs.

"Draco," she gently grabbed his hand. She was shaking. Was she scared? Nervous? Why was she nervous? "Come to bed." She turned and started to make her way back down to the bedroom, her hand still clinging to his as she led him down the steps. He followed her instinctively but a million questions formed on his lips. She turned to him and smiled, looking away and, he could swear—though he would never know in the darkness of the cabin—blushing.

And then it clicked for him. His jaw dropped a little, in an almost comical fashion, before he pursed his lips and gave her a stern look.

"Hermione, you don't have to—"

"Draco," she said more firmly this time. "Just—don't make me ask you again."

Her hand found its way to his cheek and he found himself pushing into her touch. He felt her bring his face down towards hers and heard as she inhaled sharply, as if she were about to dive into the ocean below. He cracked a small smile and relished her courage, her audacity. But he sensed she needed something more. She needed him to be the brave one.

He closed the distance quickly between them and suddenly his lips met with hers. He felt the coiled feeling inside his chest expand and grow, yearning to break free. And he let it.

His hands gripped the sides of her face and delicately wove them through her tousled mane, begging her to open to him. She acquiesced instantly and his mind spun as their tongues sought each other out, exploring and claiming new territory. He felt her fumble with his shirt and he broke free only a moment to rip it off his body. His lips crashed back down onto hers and he felt a soft moan escape her lips. He melted.

Her hands were all over him now, feverish almost. They were slightly cold to the touch and he could tell she greedily sought out the warmth emanating from his bared chest. Her touches wreaked havoc on his control and he pushed the t-shirt up her torso, willing it away with his mind only to be confronted with the very real situation that was her still healing body. She winced in pain as he pulled too hard on her shirt.

"Oh shit, sorry," he clumsily apologized. She laughed and showered his neck and chest with soft kisses.

"It's okay, go slow during this part." He wasn't sure he was going to able to but he would try. For her.

He stepped back and slowly began to raise the shirt up her torso, drinking in the milky skin beneath. The bruises were faint along her ribs but even the minor discoloration added to his fascination with her body. As he brought his shirt over her head and guided her arms above her, his breath hitched when he saw her bare chest. Her head emerged from the shirt and finally the blasted shard of clothing was removed. She stood before him confident and he thought it was impossible to find her more attractive. And then he looked down.

The pale pink lace knickers.

She was going to kill him. She laughed at what he assumed was a comical expression on his boyish face. She hooked her thumbs into her knickers but he stopped her and fell to his knees before her. The overwhelming sense of déjà vu was a powerful aphrodisiac. But rather than stumble backwards like he did before, this time he leaned in and pressed gentle kisses across her thighs, reveling in the soft whimpers he heard escape her lips. He wasn't sure who was driving whom more mad with lust. When he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her knickers he noted her sharp intake of breath. He slowly slid them down, appreciating how she wiggled her hips side to side to help. He was hypnotized by her body. As the knickers pooled at her ankles he looked up at her and found her warm expression staring down at him. Her fingers played absentmindedly with is hair and he let out a sign of contentment, realizing too late the effect that would have on her as she released another gentle whimper. He smirked and leaned forward.

Her fingers gripped his hair as he lavished her with kisses and licks. He was starving for her and couldn't keep from smiling as he each of his touches sent shockwaves through her body. She was just as affected as he was when they touched. He wanted to cry out to the world that only he could make Hermione Granger feel and move the way she did now. His chest swelled with pride and he continued his kissing and licking and found his hands wandering up the backs of her thighs, squeezing and gently kneading her bottom. She whimpered again, this time louder.

And just as quickly, she came undone around him. He felt her grip his hair and pull, almost painfully so, but he heard her beg him to continue.

"Don't stop, oh god, please, don't stop—"and so he obliged. Until he felt some of her tension slip away and her body start to jerk at his continued kisses. She was so overly sensitive he knew now was the time to lie her back down onto the bed.

He rose slowly, stretching out his legs and relieving his knees of the pressure. She steadied herself by placing her hand on his abdomen, suddenly fascinated with the many lines of his body. He watched as she traced one line all the way down to the rim of his pants and how her eyes darted up to his, almost as though she were asking permission or daring him to deny her. He tossed his head back, savoring every touch.

"You're driving me crazy," he breathed heavily into the night air. Hermione giggled and his focus shifted from her fingers to her mouth. He brought his hands back up to her face and dipped his head to steal another kiss. He wasn't sure if she would appreciate a kiss after what he had just done but she clung to him and pushed the kiss even deeper. He felt her hands slide up to his chest and then to his shoulders. She gently pushed him to sit down on the bed, putting him at an ideal height to worship her bare chest. He kissed around each mound and licked and suckled to his delight. Who knew Granger would have this kind of control over his desires? He felt delirious almost, like she had cast a spell on him.

He pressed himself into her chest and gripped her hips so that she would be closer to him. She giggled and moaned, driving him even deeper down this black hole of desire. Then just as suddenly she stepped back and out of his reach. He found himself pouting and reaching out to her, suddenly unable to use speech to get what he wanted, what he needed. She stood there with her hands on her hips and commanded his undivided attention.

"Draco, I need to get your pants off and you're making it very difficult," she said, seeming to reprimand him. He caught the soft edge to her voice. Was she frustrated with him? He smirked.

"You only have yourself to blame for my actions," he quipped. She frowned and sank further into her posture.

"You know that's a very problematic thing to say," she chided him. He rolled his eyes.

"Point taken," he stood suddenly and pushed his pants and his briefs down to the floor in one fluid gesture. Hermione had the decency to gasp slightly and once again (he assumed) blush. They stood like that for a breath or two, drinking the other in. There was a part of Draco, and if he was being honest a very large part of him, that felt deeply vulnerable and self-conscious standing in front of Hermione, naked. They had never even kissed before tonight. And sure he had had the opportunity to help her undress and perhaps he took slight advantage of her incapacitated state but she had never come close to seeing him naked. And certainly not like this. Even after all the conversations and events of the past two weeks, Hermione Granger still managed to make Draco Malfoy feel like a naïve teenager.

She closed the gap between them and slowly sank to her knees. Draco must be dreaming. His head was spinning. This couldn't be real. But then he felt her wet, warm mouth around him and it became violently apparent that this was all too real. He no longer felt like the naïve teenager but like the man she needed him to be in that moment. And god did he want to show her how much of a man he could be.

When he felt dangerously close to ending this night too quickly, he gently pulled her back up into his arms. She looked at him with confusion and he simply wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in his warmth and his scent. She relaxed in his arm and he pressed kisses onto the top of her head, pulling her back so he could continue showering them down her face. She giggled and he melted even more.

How had this happened? He had never experienced this kind of intimacy with anyone. Even Andreia. He pushed thoughts of her out of his head quickly, feeling the immediate sting of betrayal. He wanted to focus on Hermione. And, as if reading his mind, she grabbed his focus so to speak. His gaze snapped down to hers and in the darkness he saw a wicked smirk play at the corners of her very tempting and frankly amazing mouth.

"Sit," she ordered softly. He had no shot of disobeying. He sat obligingly on the edge of the bed and she gave him a once over, again making him feel the slightest bit self-conscious while also affirming that his body was pleasing to her. "I want you, Draco." He unintentionally puffed out his chest at her confession.

"Then take me, Hermione." He wasn't sure why but something about those words undid whatever Hermione was holding on to as her last semblance of control. She let him guide her body over his and positioned her legs on either side of his hips. He moved both of her hands to the tops of his shoulders, double checking that her injured arm was able to take the position. She looked dazed and famished so he took that as a go-ahead. He gripped the sides of her bottom firmly and skillfully positioned himself at her entrance, pushing ever so lightly to tease her. She threw her head back and released what Draco thought must be the most heavenly sound in the world. He was instantly transported back to that day when he blindly washed her hair and he felt himself grow even bigger if that was possible. Hermione lazily brought her head back and stared deeply into his hooded eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked halfheartedly, aware that this was all happening so fast. She bit her lip.

"Yes." He held her there with one hand as he reached over to a side compartment and brought out a condom. Hermione waited as he slipped it on and repositioned her with his guiding touch.

He lowered her down on top of him and he felt her instinctively clench around him. She was wickedly tight and he found himself panting when she wasn't even halfway down his length. He looked up into her face and saw her twisted expression. Pain.

He panicked slightly but trusted she would tell him if it was too much. So instead he paused her descent and leaned forward to take her nipple into his mouth. The effect was immediate. She opened for him, the feel of his mouth around her a temporary distraction from the pain, and he took the opportunity to slide her down quickly until she hit his lap. She hissed in pain but the hiss slowly became a moan of pleasure. He closed his mouth around her other nipple as he lifter her up again and then brought her down. She was gloriously slick around him and he was sure he was going to lose it at any minute. And just when he was ready to lift her up again, he felt her weight shift slightly and her hands gently pushing him down onto the bed. As he descended he felt himself slide deeper into her. She must have felt it too because she smiled wickedly and laughed.

"Oh my god Draco, you feel amazing," she whispered into the air. He didn't trust himself to say anything and instead squeezed her hips to get her moving. She followed his silent command and began to move her hips. He could tell she was in pain from her ribs and he moved to switch them to a more comfortable position but she pushed him down harshly. "Don't you fucking dare."

He laughed deeply and in response placed his arms behind his head and allowed her to take what she needed. She looked down hungrily at him and he unintentionally (or maybe he knew exactly what he was doing) flexed. Her eyes went wide and she started to move, despite the pain. Draco was beginning to think that his little Gryffindor enjoyed the pain a bit. The thought would need to be further explored on a later date, perhaps when she was fully healed.

His focus once again closed in around her and the way she made his body feel. He could feel her gripping him, almost convulsively, as she ground down into him. He watched as her breathing became more erratic and small beads of sweat gathered between her breasts. When she moved her hands up her own body, pinching her nipples, he couldn't help but push his hips up into her deeper. She gasped and increased her speed. He was lost in her body's movements. Mesmerized. Devoted. And when she came apart around him he watched greedily and selfishly. He held her hands as she squeezed and rode him through the orgasm. And though he tried to give her time to relish the experience, he couldn't stop himself from fumbling to flip her onto her back and pushing into her from this new position.

Her eyes snapped open and she placed her hands on either side of his face, smiling up at him and wincing through the pain this new position caused her. He smiled back at her and increased his tempo, riding a wave she had started and that he was determined to finish. He was vaguely aware that she was speaking to him, whispering something that though he couldn't fully understand seemed to egg him on. And then his world shattered.

He felt himself still and release an energy that felt categorically different from the magic he felt compelled to release every so often. This was perhaps more powerful, more draining. He thought for a moment he had blacked out until he realized his eyes were squeezed shut and that she was petting his face, wiping away the sweat that had gathered on his brow. He couldn't breathe. The energy he had just lost took his breath away and for a moment he panicked at the idea of suffocating but just as quickly he managed to gulp in a cool breath of air. He was alive. He had never felt so alive in his life.

He looked down at Hermione and almost cried. She was so beautiful. So warm and caring. The kind of lover that pushed all his buttons and somehow found ways to point out how good he was. When he saw himself through her eyes he thought this was what everyone was always going on about—the kind of man you should strive to become. He wanted to be that for her. Better. He smiled at her and kissed her sweetly before pulling out of her and watching her pad across the cramped bedroom to the head. When she returned her hands were cold from the water and he almost yelped when they made contact under the comforter. She giggled and he instantly warmed. Gently, minding her injuries, he wrapped her up around him and placed a few stray kisses on the top of her head.

"Good night Draco," she whispered into his chest.

"Good night Hermione." And perhaps even quicker than before, sleep gripped him and he was gone.


	8. Part I: Chapter 7

A/N: Here it is, the end of part 1! Hope you all enjoy it as well as the special character appearance :) If you love the story or are curious to see what happens next with Draco and Hermione in part 2, follow or favorite. And if you're feeling extra inspired, please review.  
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters do not belong to me.

**Part 1: Somewhere off the coast of Brazil**

_Chapter 7_

Her soft breath tickled the sun bleached hairs on his chest, causing his eyes to flutter open in the early morning. Confused, his eyes wandered around his bedroom until he recognized a familiar bush of unruly hair falling down across his shoulder. He grinned as the memories of last night returned.

Hermione lay tucked into his side, naked and peacefully asleep. Her hand splayed protectively across his abdomen and beneath the comforter he was aware of her legs tangled up in his. He strained to keep his breathing measured so as not to wake her but risked sliding his hand down her spine before settling on her perfectly round bottom. He tensed, feeling himself go hard with her soft body wrapped around his, open to his desires.

Sensing the slight movements in his body, Hermione scrunched her nose and moved languidly to her other side. Her bottom pushed against his hip and when he turned to face her back he was briefly overcome by the sight of her exposed curves. He audibly swallowed.

Carefully, Draco pulled his arm out from under Hermione and sat up to crawl off the foot of the bed. She made a soft whining sound—his tensed, unsure what he would do if she woke—but otherwise remained still in his bed. He stretched and grabbed the discarded sweats and a shirt, catching a glimpse of those pale pink lace knickers under more discarded clothing. Grinning more broadly now, he turned and made his way above deck.

As he passed by the head and then through the galley out to the stern, the events of last night sank in deeper. He had slept with Hermione Granger. And while the physical act itself left his body humming with energy, he couldn't deny the mess of emotions that were slowly trickling into his consciousness: pride, guilt, arousal, vulnerability, astonishment, anxiety.

Perhaps it had been a mistake. He had taken advantage of their isolation. She had practically thrown herself at him. It was a mistake—neither of them had really thought it through.

But then he remembered the way she called out to him in the dark: tentative and hopeful. How she touched his face and stared up at him with something beyond a cry for some human contact. How she eagerly met his own kisses, his licks, his squeezes with her own.

Draco shook his head as if trying to shake out the jumble of thoughts causing him to feel like a teenager again. He didn't want to think about the ramifications of last night. And he certainly didn't want to confront the mess of contradictory emotions tugging at his heart. Instead, he just wanted to act. To do something. To run.

The sun was just starting to peak over the horizon and the wind had picked up considerably since yesterday. It would be a perfect day to sail far, far away from the island. He glanced back over his shoulder, giving it one final goodbye and then set off to prepare the sails.

Xx

They had made decent progress during the sunrise and Draco was satisfied with _Onward_, though a creaking in her mast concerned him. He figured one of the pulleys must be coming lose and set out to find the appropriate tools to handle the simple repair. As he moved around the galley he heard the bedroom door open and glanced sideways to see Hermione emerge, clad once again in his extra-large shirt. He grinned, the sight of her bare legs reminding him of the way she had straddled him not too long ago.

"Bed head looks good on you Granger." She blushed under his heated gaze and then rolled her eyes.

"How long have you been awake?" She took a seat at the kitchen table while he gathered up some fresh pineapple for her.

"Long enough for the island to be well beyond the horizon. It's all open ocean for the time being. Go take a look for yourself." She rose with her bowl of pineapple and made her way above deck. He shamelessly watched her long legs and the movement of her hips as she passed by him, resisting the urge to take her on the galley counter tops. The fresh wave of guilt and anxiety caught him off guard and he pushed away his body's physical attraction to the witch as quickly as possible.

He found her standing at the bow, looking out into early morning light. He savored the view of a half-naked Hermione Granger standing on his boat with the hair whipping at her back. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled coyly. She was going to be the death of him.

He joined her and noted how she subtly moved closer to him as the boat rocked to and fro. The hairs on his exposed arm raised at their brief contact and he sucked in a quick breath. She wasn't looking at him but he'd be shocked if she wasn't studying his every action, every reaction. He wanted to say something—something genuine that wasn't just a joke or one-liner to break the mounting tension—but instead he chewed the inside of his cheek and followed her gaze out onto the open ocean. They stood like that in silence for a moment or two—enjoying the breeze and ignoring the unanswered questions hanging in the air.

"Where are you taking me?" she finally asked. He could hear the note of excitement and nervousness in her voice.

"It's a surprise." She glanced over at him and pouted.

"Draco." He couldn't help but chuckle. A part of him had always enjoyed the bossiness of Hermione Granger.

"First we'll head east and make a few stops as we cross the Atlantic, and then we'll head north." She arched her brown and challenged him.

"Isn't the point of running away to actually get as far away from your pursuers as possible? You're not thinking of heading back to England are you?"

"No, of course not. But there's an island off the coast of Morocco I've been itching to show you. Trust me, you'll love it there." He caught her small smile before she hid it under her normal curiosity. He thought maybe now was a good time to address the elephant in the room but she turned suddenly, her back against the railing, and placed her hand on his right forearm. He looked down at the contact, feeling his body instantly betray him and melt under her touch.

"Oh? And how do you know what I love?" She was looking up at him innocently but he caught the mischievousness in her voice and her deep chocolate eyes. As if acting on its own accord, his body moved to trap her against the railing, bringing more contact between them and taking them both back to the night before. She looked shocked and aroused by his move and that was enough to mute any lingering feelings of hesitation, doubt, and guilt that had been plaguing him all morning.

"Call it a hunch." His lips were on hers before she could respond, no doubt with a sharp quip of her own. Heat seared onto his lips and then his tongue when she opened to him; it gathered at the base of his abdomen we he pressed his hips into hers; it nearly burned him when he felt her hands reach up under his shirt and connect with his exposed skin. Everything about the kiss was overwhelming.

She must have felt it too and she broke away to look up at him, a thousand questions in her eyes begging for the right answers from him. But he didn't know how to answer her the way she wanted him to. He wasn't sure he would ever be able to answer her. All he knew was that in spite of everything—their wretched past, his harbored love for Andreia that still lingered, and the tumultuous future that waited for them—he would rather drown in the sensations of her kiss and pretend, even for just a moment, that nothing else existed beyond their bodies and the fire that sparked when they touched.

As he moved to kiss her again the creaking in the mast caught their attention. He gazed up and noticed the sail shaking violently and begrudgingly untangled himself from Hermione's embrace.

"What's wrong with the sail?"

"It's just one of the pulleys. I think it's either rusted or something has come loose. I should give it a look."

"You're going to go all the way up there? But what if you fall? Wouldn't it be wiser to just bring it down?"

"I'll be fine. I've done this a million times and it shouldn't take too long. I need you to go to the wheel and hold the boat steady while I'm up there. We don't want to capsize." Her eyes widened and he reached out to squeeze her hand reassuringly. The action surprised them both.

"But I have no idea what to do."

"Well if you're going to be staying on my boat you should start pulling your weight around here and make yourself useful." She scowled at him and pushed him away playfully.

"And here I thought I had made it _very_ clear last night how I'd like to be useful," she teased under her breath. He stared at her dumbfounded, completely at a loss. She bit her lip, holding her confidence but waited for him to respond before she'd make her next move. He wanted to fist her hair and smother that smart mouth with his own but the creaking pulley caught his attention yet again. He groaned and she seemed to grin, feeling victorious.

"We'll finish this—_conversation_—once I've fixed the pulley. Now go stand by the wheel like a good first mate." She strode by him, letting her fingers briefly graze one of his bare arms. He shivered. Once she was below deck, he pinched the skin on his left forearm where his Dark Mark marred his skin. The slight pain was enough to break through his daze and his body readjusted to her absence. Draco was convinced his body was acting on its own accord when she was around—and he was beginning to think she was using this to her advantage.

With a final shake of his head Draco turned and began his climb up the mast, tools slung tightly around his waist. Just as he was nearing the top of the mast, he heard Hermione's footsteps below him. He looked down at her as she looked up at him, her hand shielding the sun from her eyes. She must have been only five or six meters below him but he could barely make out her facial expression.

"Get back to the wheel Hermione!" He shouted down to her. He continued his climb, determined to teach her the ins and outs of sailing as soon as possible. It was dangerous to have her on the boat without the proper safety and mechanical experience.

"Draco hold on! Let me fix it!" He paused, confused by her proposal. He looked back down at her and pure panic rose from his gut. She stood there with her arm outstretched, the clear outline of a wand reaching toward him. A wand. Oh no.

"Hermione! Don't use—"

"_Reparo_!" Draco watched in horror as the a light gold energy whizzed past his head and settled on the squeaky pulley only a few meters above him. The pulley jiggled from the charm and the squeaking died down immediately. Instinctively, Draco whipped his head around and scanned the horizon for the Aurors he knew would be arriving at any moment.

"Fuck." He started his decent down the mast and yelled down at Hermione, "get back to the bloody wheel and hold it steady!" He didn't look to confirm she obeyed his command but feeling the ship settle after a moment was proof enough. Once he was in a safe distance from the ground he jumped down and made a beeline to the sheets and prepared the sails for the race that was fast upon them.

"Draco what's happening?" He heard her shout out from the wheel. She must have sensed his urgency. He wanted to go to her and reassure her but time was of the essence.

"Man the wheel Hermione and do exactly as I tell you to!" He shouted back. He scanned the horizon again then took off to prepare _Onward_ for the impending attack.

Come on you pricks, he thought to himself, show yourselves so I can end this.

As if one cue he heard a gentle whooshing grow louder and louder over the noise of the strained sails. He glanced behind him, towards the stern and Hermione positioned at the wheel. Behind her he saw two black dots slowly growing in size, flying through the air at an unnatural speed.

"Fuck. Brooms." This would be trickier than he imagined. But still, only two. He could handle two. He waited patiently as the two wizards gained on their ship. He would have to time this perfectly if it were to work.

"Hold steady Hermione! On my word steer counter clockwise! And make it sharp!" He didn't hear her respond but trusted she heard his order.

The wizards drew closer.

He held his position, hooking his feet into the ropes that lined the side of the boat. All his senses on high alert: his skin tight from the onslaught of wind and the cold, salty sea spray showering his bare arms and seeping through his clothes; his calloused hands gripped tightly around the sheet that begged him for release; his eyes burning as he remained focused on the wizard approaching starboard. They were predictable at least, splitting the boat.

He grinned. They made it almost too easy.

"Steady Hermione!

Hold…

hold…

NOW!" He felt the boat lurch and just as the wizards zoomed overhead, Draco released the sheet and the boom and mainsail with it.

"BOOM!" He yelled to Hermione who, thankfully remembered his stories from earlier. She ducked immediately as the boom sailed through the air crossing to the starboard side and chasing after the wizard. But even his broom wasn't fast enough: the sail crashed into him, sending rider and broom tumbling down into the turbulent waters below.

"Hold it steady Hermione!" Allowing himself only a moment of victory, he quickly secured the sheet once again and made his way to the bow of the ship. The other wizard had surpassed their boat but was rounding back. Draco could see the outline of a dark, twisted wand extending from the wizard's position and a blanket of cold fear shocked him into high alert.

Draco concentrated on his magic, letting it grow exponentially inside his chest. He never took his eyes off the wizard and his speeding advancement. The familiar sensation of constriction was just as quickly overcome with the release he knew was sure to follow.

An explosion of air reverberated from Draco's chest and he watched with hope and anticipation as the energy made is way towards the unsuspecting wizard. He watched as the broom seemed to awkwardly slow and then hang perfectly still in the morning air, the wizard momentarily baffled by the sudden betrayal of his broomstick. And then both broom and rider were struck with such violent force Draco was almost certain neither would survive the impact. The limp body of a wizard fell deep into the ocean below while the splintered broom spiraled down to its watery grave.

Draco collapsed to his knees, the energy entirely drained from his body. He heard her running towards him and soon her hands were turning and lifting him to her. She searched his face for signs of injury and her worried expression softened his heart. Compassion, concern, and perhaps even annoyance swirled in her chocolate brown eyes. He could get lost in those eyes forever.

"Draco, say something!" she cried. She gripped the sides of his face, tears starting to roll freely down her cheeks. He smiled up at her, touched by her concern.

"Water?" he asked quietly, his voice raw from barking commands and the scream he only now realized had accompanied his magical release. She nodded and took off to the galley, returning with one of his water bottles. He drank it greedily as she encouraged him to lean against the mast. She crouched in front of him, her wand sticking out of a pair of tiny jean shorts he hadn't noticed until now. He liked those.

He took another gulp and started to open his mouth when he saw her attention drawn to something behind him. He reluctantly glanced over his shoulder and watched as a third wizard flew towards their boat.

He panicked.

He turned back to Hermione, unsure of what to do now. But she was a step ahead of him.

Standing, with her arm outstretched and her wand pointed directly at the wizard zooming closer and closer, she smiled a wicked smile.

"_Relashio_."

Draco was stunned. The broom zoomed ahead of the rider and the wizard fell from the sky and crashed onto the stern of their boat. Hermione took off towards the fallen wizard and Draco used the last of his energy to pull himself up to his feet. As he turned towards the stern he heard her cry out.

"Harry!" Draco's gut twisted. Harry? She knew that wasn't his name. "Merlin, Harry! Wake up! Please wake up!" The realization dawned on Draco and he flew down to see a crouching Hermione flung across the body of a lifeless wizard.

It only took the mop of dark brown waves to confirm that Draco was looking at the body of the infamous Harry Potter.

Xx

"He's coming around! Harry, oh Harry, please wake up!" The battered wizard lay in Hermione's lap, his leg contorted into an unnatural position that had Draco reeling from déjà vu. His eyes flickered open and when green orbs gazed up into brown, the man smiled.

"Hey Hermione. I'm here to rescue you?" His eyelids fluttered closed and Hermione shook his shoulders again.

"Draco please! Help him!" She looked over her shoulder at him, pleading with him to help. But his energy was completely sapped. He thought he would fall overboard if he didn't sit. But the way she looked at him, pleading with him to be strong, had him wordlessly stalking off into the head to retrieve the newly stocked first aid kit. When he returned he watched as Hermione dragged Harry's semi-conscious body further into the galley, yelling at him to stay awake. He watched as she cried freely and greedily reached for the first aid kit, looking for something—anything—that would save her best friend.

Draco stumbled back, unsure how to proceed.

He stared back over the horizon, scanning the skies for other wizards but so far the coast was clear. He hoped Potter was the last to pursue them though he knew better than to be hopeful. Hermione's fatal last spell would have attracted more Aurors. And then they were truly screwed. But maybe there was a way to salvage this mess after all.

He glanced back down at Hermione and Potter, clinging to each other. Seeing her pain he crouched down and reached for the first aid kit. He muddled through and found the needle of adrenaline he always had for emergencies. It wouldn't save Potter's life but it would at least buy him the time he desperately needed until help arrived. He tugged Hermione off of Potter's heavy body and though she resisted he managed to communicate his urgency to her with a simple glance.

He ripped Potter's cloak and the linen shirt below to expose his chest. He placed his hand over his chest and searched for his heart. When he was sure he found the right spot, he plunged the needle in and pushed the pure adrenaline into his body. The effect was nearly instantaneous. Potter's eyes snapped open and he gulped in a huge breath of air, coughing in the process. Hermione's eyes lit up and she threw her arms around her resurrected friend, repeating his name over and over again.

Draco got up swiftly and ducked into his bedroom. He grabbed the nearest shirt off his dresser and dug through the top drawer until his fingers grasped the cool wood he knew was waiting for him. He tugged the shirt on over his head and picked up his pace as he returned to the galley, his heart breaking only a little when he saw the megawatt smile on Hermione's face as she beamed down at a bewildered Potter. She glanced up and it nearly shattered him. She looked at him like he was her hero. The gratitude, pride, and admiration in her eyes left him momentarily stunned, forgetting the urgency of his actions. But Potter's coughs interrupted their moment.

"Hermione, they're coming for him," he coughed. Her face fell and she looked questioningly into Potter's eyes and then Draco's. He knelt down beside her and grabbed her hands into his own, sprinkling kisses over her knuckles.

"He's right Hermione. More will come and I can't be here when they do."

"Right, what do we do?" She looked up at him pleadingly and he fought the urge to burst into hot tears of his own.

"You're going to stay here with Potter—don't fight me on this Hermione!—you're going to stay here and you're going to make sure he survives. And when the Aurors get here you're going to tell them I vanished. You're going to tell them I held you captive these past two weeks. And you're going to tell them I did this to Potter and that the other Aurors' deaths were at my hands and my hands alone. Do you understand?" She began to cry and shook her head. "No Hermione, answer me! Do you understand?" She hiccupped and searched his eyes for an indication that this this was all a bad dream, that they were still naked under his comforter, becoming more and more accustomed with the idea of their undeniable attraction. But no matter how many times she blinked back the tears and how long she stared up into those gray, stormy eyes, she wouldn't wake up.

"Draco, I can't. I won't. I can't leave you—"

"Yes you can. And you will. I have to go." He stood to leave the galley but she reached out frantically, pulling on his sweats to bring him back down to her.

"Take me with you!" She begged. He stilled. He almost considered but knew the dangers.

"No, Hermione. I won't put your life in danger. I won't make you run."

"Please Draco. Please," she whispered, though he noted the sound of defeat in her voice, knowing he had finally gotten through to her rational side. He gave her one last look, heartbroken that his final memory of her would be her small form curled up and shaking with heartbreak and anger. And all because of him.

"Thank you Hermione. I'll never forget you." She looked up at him again, her expression suddenly stern and determined.

"I'll find you Draco. I'll never stop looking." The promise hung in the air and Draco's heart beat wildly in his chest. He smiled down at her.

"Good." He removed his wand from his back pocket and turned, the pop of his apparation only partially drowning out her final cries as he left her and _Onward_ behind.

Xx

Draco fell to this knees on the familiar wooden dock suddenly overcome with blinding pain. He glanced down at his legs and noticed the deep, angry gash torn through his right thigh. Splinched. He had known the dangers of apparating from such a far distance, not to mention the fact that he hadn't used his wand in nearly a decade.

The combination of releasing his magic, saving Potter's life, saying goodbye to Hermione, and now apparating had completely drained him. He collapsed onto the dock, his vision blurring as he felt the blood pool around him. He was vaguely aware of the footsteps pounding on the dock and for the briefest of moments he allowed himself to hope.

He would be saved.

He would survive.

And he would keep running.

Help was on its way.

But as he felt multiple pairs of hands roughly turn him onto his back his hope crumbled around him. In his last moments of consciousness he stared up at a circle of dark cloaks and extended arms pointing at his face. A bright light followed and then Draco was gone.

**End of Part 1**


	9. Part II: Chapter 8

A/N: On to part 2! Just a quick head's up that I will not be posting the next chapter next week as I will be traveling and celebrating the holiday. You can expect Chapter 9 to come the week after though so stay tuned. As always, if you like what you're reading please favorite/follow/review. Enjoy!  
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters do not belong to me.

**Part 2: England**

_Chapter 8_

She locked the oak door behind her before dropping her salt-encrusted pack and leaning back against the rough wood. Even after the long day of traveling and the time she'd been gifted to process, her mind raced. Looking down at her calloused hands she noticed the slight tremor and balled them repeatedly into fists before releasing and stretching out her fingers, trying to shake the shakes away.

"Hermione? Dear, is that you?" A matronly voice pulled her from her trance and drew her back into the tall ceilings of her townhouse. Hermione pushed herself off the door, grabbed her pack, and made her way towards the heavenly smells wafting from her kitchen.

When she rounded the corner that separated her modern kitchen from the normally disheveled dining room/makeshift office, she saw a plump woman with a mass of orange hair standing over her stovetop. Hermione felt a weak smile and genuinely cherished the presence of her roommate's mother. She needed her company in a time like this. Not to mention whatever she was slaving over that smelled out of this world.

A pang of guilt stabbed Hermione in the chest. What if Draco was out there, hungry? She shook her head, knowing that if she allowed all her worries to come flooding back she'd end up a pile of tears on the floor. She could hold them back. She needed to stay strong.

Molly Weasley glanced over her shoulder and smiled widely when she saw the petite brunette gazing affectionately at her. She let go of the wooden spoon (though it continued to stir the brew bubbling over the stovetop) and wiped her hands down a familiar looking apron. She crossed the room and enveloped Hermione in the hug she hadn't realized she was desperately needed.

Hermione felt tears threaten to spill over but squeezed her eyes shut and willed them to hold. She hugged Molly back fiercely and then smiled when Molly's hands cradled her face and searched for any emotional scars the doctors may have missed in Brazil. She ushered Hermione to the kitchen table and went to work ladling out a piping hot bowl of stew.

Hermione ate her stew in silence, keenly aware of Mrs. Weasley's motherly gaze. She knew the woman was bursting with questions but she relished the silence. For a brief moment she thought she could hear the ocean but scolded herself for acting so silly. When the stew was gone and the questions could no longer be ignored, Hermione looked up into Molly's eyes and let the few stray tears fall down her sun-kissed cheeks. Molly smiled lovingly, looking at Hermione with just the faintest trace of pity. But Hermione would accept it. She needed someone to carry the burden with her.

"Go on and tell me your story," encouraged Molly. She placed her plump, soft hands over Hermione's and gave a gentle squeeze.

And so Hermione let it all tumble out. She told her about the shock of seeing Draco at the dock, the accident (and she stressed this when she saw Molly's horrified reaction), her recovery, their agreement, and then the moment everything turned to shit. She conveniently left out the part about his sidelong glances, his searing kisses, and that night of passion that still caused her belly to do flips and her emotions to wreak havoc on her heart and mind. She left out how much her heart was breaking knowing that he had left her and that she was, shamefully, grateful for his decision. She fed Molly Weasley the lie that Draco had planted: that she was more or less his prisoner while they sorted out how to deal with her inconvenient arrival on the island.

"And Harry? We've right heard nothing about him. Ginny's over at St. Mungo's overseeing the transfer now but we've all heard terrible things coming from the Ministry." Hermione sighed and allowed a new emotion to push aside her heartbreak: shame.

"It's all my fault."

"What? How can it be your fault my dear? You can't control a man like Draco Malfoy," she said kindly. Hermione smiled and recalled the lie she was supposed to be telling. The lie that only she and Draco—and possibly Harry—knew to be a lie.

"I just mean I shouldn't have left without my wand that first day. I could have _stupified_ him and none of this would have happened. I was so _stupid_." She began to cry. Mrs. Weasley would think it was because Hermione felt wrongfully guilty about a momentary lapse in judgment but in reality her tears shed for the reckless magic she'd used that almost killed her best friend.

"Tell me what happened. After the Malfoy boy fled." Hermione sniffed.

"Harry was coherent for a while and when I thought he'd be alright on his own for a moment I sent up a distress call. The Brazilian Aurors arrived only moments later. They were already in the area, looking for the boat so it wasn't too much of a hassle." She sighed deeply, remembering those last few moments on _Onward_ that she knew would be her last. The memories she had made in each and every part of that ship—some the best of her life and others the worst—had hit her like a ton of bricks. It was only when the whooshing of incoming wizards caught her attention did she remember to hide any evidence of her real relationship with Draco. She glanced over at her pack and thought herself silly for keeping the grocery list they had made together before making port and the book of Sherlock Holmes stories he'd given to her when he'd thought she had a concussion. The Aurors wouldn't have known the significance of these menial objects but she couldn't take that chance—and she couldn't bear to part with these small mementos of their brief time together.

"What was the damage? Were the Brazilians able to stitch him back together?" Hermione nodded quickly, reassuring Mrs. Weasley that her future son-in-law was alive and healing.

"A number of broken bones, some nasty internal bleeding, and a concussion. They said the adrenaline saved his life. Had he remained unconscious they may not have been able to wake him," she whispered. For the hundredth time over the past 48 hours she sent a silent thank you to Draco and his quick thinking. He had saved Harry's life.

And he had saved hers. In more ways than one.

"Well then it sounds like he's got a bit of healing to do over the next few days. I'm pleased to hear they were able to transport you both back to London in quick order. We've missed you my dear," another gentle squeeze. Hermione smiled. She excused herself under the pretense of needing to clean up. But in reality she needed a moment to let her guard down away from the questioning eyes of others.

The past 48 hours had been a nightmare. Least of which because her Portuguese was utter shit and convincing the Brazilian Ministry that she was not a criminal proved exceedingly difficult. But then Shacklebolt appeared and the weight of power opened the doors they needed to get home safely.

She peeled off the slightly damp and smelly clothes as she made her way to her washroom. And when she stepped into the pristine white tiled room she froze when she saw the naked woman looking back at her. Hermione was shocked by her reflection and the emotions it brought up.

Her hair was a mess—but that was to be expected. It was also several shades lighter, bleached by the sun. Her skin was a little darker too with some redder spots here and there. Her eyes were red and puffy, telltale signs of the near constant drip of tears that had plagued her since that fateful morning. She delicately traced the last reminder of her broken ribs and arm—the bruises now a light, pale green almost and fading faster with every hour. She had refused medical attention when the Aurors brought her and Harry to the hospital. They insisted on treating her half-healed ribs and examining her mended arm for signs of proper setting but she stubbornly refused. She said it was because she needed their focus and energy on Harry but it was just another lie.

The truth was she worried that without the subtle reminder of pain she would forget what had happened.

She would forget him.

And she deserved this, she told herself angrily. She deserved whatever small amount of pain she could get—it had been her stupidity that had landed Harry in St. Mungo's and Draco back on the run, alone yet again. She should have known they would put a trace on her wand. But she had gotten lazy. Accustomed to living her days in the bubble she and Draco had created on _Onward_. She was a fool and deserved some form of punishment.

Tears fell more freely now and she watched as her reflection heaved and its face contorted into an ugly, twisted creature. She wanted to yell but held back, aware of Mrs. Weasley's renowned hearing. She spun quickly away from the mirror, sick of the pathetic girl she saw and stepped into her shower, letting the hot water wash away her sweat, blood, and tears.

But never her memories. Even though they clung to her raw, beaten heart she would never let those wash away.

In part because they reminded her of a time when she felt more alive than she ever had.

But also because they reminded her of her promise.

She had to find him.

Xx

The next morning Hermione woke up with a to do list shorter than she'd ever made. There were only three items that required her attention:

1\. Debrief with Shacklebolt

2\. Check in on Harry

3\. Find Draco

She had considered writing "return to Draco" as the third item but something made her take pause and reconsider. She hadn't promised him she would return. Just that she would find him. What if he didn't want her to come back to him? What if he just wanted her to know he was safe and happy, island hoping and soaking up the sun on his boat? She shook her head. She was getting ahead of herself.

She needed to focus on item number one.

Xx

Hermione waited anxiously in the Minister of Magic's reception, twirling her wand absent mindedly and doing her best to avoid the eye contact of every other Ministry agent looking at her inquisitively. She didn't have time for their questions and knew that anything they had to say would either dredge up memories of Draco or the War. Few people talked to her about anything else.

"Ms. Granger, the Minister will see you now," a soft voice informed her from the walls. She gathered herself, double checking that her robes were in order and that her blouse hadn't wrinkled too much during the wait, and moved effortlessly across the room towards the towering doors to Shacklebolt's office.

As she entered his office she took in the sounds of the Hogwarts Headmistress Minerva McGonagall through the floo network and watched as Shacklebolt took down notes as she spoke. Hermione waited respectfully by the door, doing her best to avoid interrupting the conversation.

"Minerva I'd love to see that proposal as soon as your professors can send it over. Very promising. And thank you again for your time and patience." He smiled broadly to her and Hermione heard her former Professor click her tongue, clearly taken by Shacklebolt's humility and respect. The green flame slowly disappeared and a silence descended over the office. She waited for Shacklebolt to meet her gaze and watched as he finished writing a final note on his parchment. After a few moments his deep brown eyes met hers and he gave her a weak smile. "Ms. Granger—"

"Hermione, please."

"Hermione," his smile widened. "Welcome home. I trust you were received back with open arms and plenty of hearty British fare." She quietly laughed, recalling the persistence of Mrs. Weasley to get her to eat the entire pot of stew last night.

"Yes, of course. You know Molly." He nodded his head slowly and then waited. Hermione cocked her head, unsure of what he was waiting for. Normally these debriefs were led by the Minister. But something was off. The way he looked at her suddenly made her acutely aware of the dull pain in her side and the lingering puffiness round her eyes.

"Hermione," he started, "the Brazilians have apprehended Mr. Malfoy."

Draco would have been proud of Hermione in that moment. Her posture remained the same and her gaze did nothing to betray the screaming of emotions roiling beneath her cool exterior. He waited, as if expecting her to show some betrayal of her earlier story, the one Draco had urged her to tell.

"It seems he apparated onto a dock and waiting Aurors had no trouble collecting him and placing him under the authority of the Ministério Brasileiro. I believe he's still receiving medical attention for his injuries but he is scheduled to face their tribunal by the end of the week."

Hermione's fists betrayed her as the bunched her cloak. She hoped he would assume it was a sign of detest and not concern.

"They've asked me to collect testimonies from you and Harry. I assumed you would be visiting Mr. Potter at St. Mungo's and hoped you wouldn't mind filling out the appropriate paperwork and sending it over to our colleagues across the pond at your earliest convenience." He smiled weakly at her, perhaps understanding the physical and emotion exhaustion that still racked her body.

"Of course sir."

"You know you may call me Kingslsey, Hermione. It wasn't so long ago we used to share meals around the same kitchen table at Number 12 Grimmauld Place." She smiled and nodded her head.

"I'll have our testimonies recorded by the end of the day. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Yes, one final thing Hermione. Take some time off before you come back to work."

"Sir?"

"It sounds like you've been through quite the ordeal. At least the rest of the week. We'll see you Monday morning at the office meeting to discuss next steps." She stood to leave, recognizing the dismissal in his final words.

"Sir—_Kingsley_—may I ask as to what will be done with Mr. Malfoy? Will the Ministry petition for his extradition and transfer to Azkaban?"

"A fair question. I was actually hoping you would be the one to advise us on that. If I remember correctly you mentioned he may prove valuable in the Department of Mysteries' magical purging project. I suppose we'd have to consider if he was worth the trouble to extradite."

"And sir—sorry, _Kingsley_—one last question: are you aware of the charges being brought forth by the Brazilians? I have a feeling extradition will depend largely on the severity of his crimes and the politics of the Ministério Brasileiro."

"Yes, astute observation. Let me see," Kingsley riffled through several of the scrolls on his desk while Hermione waited with bated breath. "Ah, here we are. 'Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy, British citizen and wanted former Death Eater is hereby charged with two counts of murder, illegal use of wandless magic, one count of attempted murder of a fellow countryman, and kidnapping of a fellow country woman.' I think it's safe to say they're rather grave. I'm unfamiliar with Brazilian laws so I cannot speak to the 'illegal use of wandless magic' charge but if he's found guilty of the other charges I imagine he's looking at a few years in Desaparecido. Is that all Hermione?"

"Yes. Thank you for your time. Enjoy the remainder of your day."

"And please send my sympathies to Harry when you see him. That poor man has stayed one too many times in St. Mungo's. Good day."

As Hermione exited the Ministry of Magic and wandered the overly crowded streets of muggle London she couldn't help but feel the weight of her world crashing around her. Sensing some sort of a panic attack, she moved quickly into an alley, leaned against the cold dirty wall, and squeezed her eyes shut. She pictured the ocean and the cool breeze that rocked the boat ever so lightly. She imagined standing at the bow of _Onward_, looking out over the horizon at the glorious sunrise. And for a brief moment she thought she could feel his arms circle around her torso, his lips pushing into the side of her windswept jumble of curls, and the heat of his broad chest pushed up against her. For a moment she convinced herself she was back in that paradise, away from the grime and crowds of London.

But only for a moment.

She opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and recalled her to do's for the day. She would not be deterred and she would not let anything—or anyone—stand in her way.

With that final thought she turned on the spot. A small, audible pop the only evidence she had ever been in the alley.

Xx

Hermione always struggled visiting St. Mungo's: seeing the sick and injured ushered in all too familiar memories from the War, and now she could add the horror of her most recent adventures to that long list of memories.

Doing her best to keep her focus on the door at the end of the corridor, Hermione briskly walked through the sterile hospital towards the recovery room she recognized as a typical Auror haunt. When she opened the door it took her only a moment to spot the sectioned off corner belonging to Harry—the absurd number of flowers, chocolates, and baked goods gave it away quickly.

As she approached, she had to remind herself that Harry was alive and safe. She had to remember that he wasn't dead and that they weren't still bobbing aimlessly in the South Atlantic Ocean but that they had, in fact, made it just in time to save his life. But even preparing herself for that did nothing when she peeled back the privacy curtain and saw her best friend lying in the hospital bed, still as a corpse.

"Harry?!" She rushed to his side, suddenly bombarded with images of his lifeless body crumpled on the stern of Draco's sailboat. Harry's eyes snapped open and the young Auror sat up straight as a board, reaching for his wand at the table next to him.

"What's happened?" He coughed up frantically. Hermione placed her hand over her frantic heart and took a deep breath. She tried to laugh at the tragedy of the situation but only made a sort of snorting sound. Harry whipped around to her and reached for his glasses. When she came into focus and he recalled his surroundings, he slowly leaned back into his bed and squeezed his eyes shut and open as if trying to shake off a bad dream. "Merlin Hermione you nearly scared me half to death."

"No I think I took care of that a couple days ago on the boat," her attempt at lightening the mood had the opposite effect. He looked over at her with his kind green eyes and gave her a small, pitying smile.

"Hermione stop it. It wasn't your fault. Please stop apologizing for something that wasn't at all your fault." She could feel her temper flaring, knowing good and well it was entirely her fault. But she didn't want to lash out at Harry. And certainly not while he was lying in a hospital bed. So instead she took a few deep breaths and then refocused on his green gaze.

"I know, you're right. I just…I feel responsible for what happened to you. I didn't realize it was you who was flying towards us—"

"Don't Hermione." Harry's expression turned serious. He lowered his voice and quickly cast a _muffliato_ charm to ensure even more privacy. "This is not the right place to discuss what actually happened on that boat. And to be perfectly honest with you Hermione, I'm not even sure I remember most of what happened let alone can make any sense of it." She rested her chin on the side of his hospital bed and let out a sigh of resignation.

"I know you don't understand Harry. And I promise I'll explain it all to you, the real story. But you're right, this isn't the right place or the right time." She raised her head again and met his hurt gaze with what she hopped conveyed her silent apology. "I promise Harry."

"Alright, but don't wait too long. I'll be out of here by tomorrow afternoon and once I'm settled again I'm going to be the first one pestering you for details."

"Well actually it looks like you'll have to get in line." He looked at her questioningly. "The Brazilians are putting Dra—Malfoy on trial. And they require our testimonies of the events leading up to his arrest."

"Alright well just put an N/A on mine I suppose."

"Harry you know I can't do that."

"Why not? I honestly don't really remember what happened! I can't upset your plan or whatever it is you're hatching if I don't participate."

"Harry you know as well as I do that that's not how things work. Listen, I came by to check and see how you were doing. I didn't mean to make you so upset."

"I'm not upset Hermione, I'm concerned. And I'm confused." He looked beyond Hermione as if trying to determine if anyone was listening in or spying on their conversation. "I still can't quite wrap my head around what I remember. Seeing you cast that jinx; waking up in your arms; hearing him tell you to put it all on him. And then watching you two—"

"What Harry? Watching us what?" She asked angrily. She hated how her best friend was looking at her, almost with pity and disgust.

"I don't know Hermione. But I'm worried about what he did to you. I just want to make sure you're seeing things clearly."

"What are you implying Harry? That he brainwashed me somehow?"

"That's not what I mean. I just mean that…well…Stockholm syndrome is a real thing and—"

"Stop it Harry. Stop it right this minute. You have no idea what you're talking about. No idea." She stood abruptly, suddenly conscious of her outburst and the tears that were falling down her cheeks. She felt Harry tug at her hand, begging her to sit back down.

"Hey, I'm sorry Hermione. I didn't mean to upset you. I'm just worried about you. And I know I don't have the full story. So I'm working with the information I do have."

They sat in silence or a long time. Hermione debated telling him everything even the parts that still made her blush. But another part knew that Draco had urged her to lie for a reason. And even if she didn't understand, she trusted his wishes and didn't want to betray his last request of her. She sniffled and used the cuff of her robe to wipe away any excess tears staining her cheeks.

"I should get going. Can I come pick you up tomorrow when they sign you out?"

"Humph," he snorted, "get in line. I think the entire Weasley family and the former Order members will be here. My only hope is that some of them will take these baked goods before I eat them all." He laughed. She smiled down at him.

"Alright. Well maybe I'll come round for dinner sometime this weekend. And we can talk. Really talk I mean," she promised him. He nodded, understanding. She turned to leave before she felt one final tug from Harry. She turned back.

"Hey I know you have to submit my testimony for the trial," he started. She instinctively held her breath waiting for his next words. "I trust you to put down what you think is best. Like I said, I don't remember most of it and what I do remember doesn't quite make sense to me. So I doubt it would make much sense to a trial of Brazilian wizards." She nodded.

"Thanks Harry. I'll see you in a couple of days."

"Thanks for visiting Hermione. And…thank you for keeping me alive," he said quietly, almost shyly.

"I'm not the one you should thank."

Xx

Hermione fidgeted with her quill as she sat at her dining room table that evening. After stopping by Ginny's office for a quick lunch she took Shacklebolt's advice and returned home for the day, fully intending to wrap up the testimonies and send them along. But as she stared at the blank rolls of parchment she found herself making excuses for avoiding the work.

She had yet to unpack so that seemed like the best thing to do. But her meager belongings only took a moment to toss into the washer.

She needed to send a few owls, alerting her colleagues that she would be taking the remainder of the week off but that if they needed her, she was always an owl or floo away. But she found it was easier to write just one letter and address it to the entire office.

Finally, she realized she had no idea what to cook for Harry that weekend and began perusing the recipes in the colorful box Ginny kept in the kitchen pantry. But midway through the seafood section of the recipe cards Hermione could no longer ignore her uncharacteristic procrastination.

The truth was she had no idea what to write. And every time she thought she had it figured out she was reminded of what had actually happened. And those memories were still too raw and too fresh. She was an emotional wreck. She felt responsible and dreadful for Draco's current predicament but relieved that Harry would be alright; she missed her little paradise on _Onward_ but the pleasures of home had reinforced the strain of living Draco's life of an outlaw. Hermione was conflicted and she didn't know how to help Draco.

If she lied, like he asked her to, he would be convicted of all charges and who knew how long they would keep him at the infamous wizarding prison Desaparecido. She had heard horror stories from some of her colleagues who had worked more cases with the Brazilians that the criminals who inhabited the rotting, Amazonian prison never emerged from their sentences fully whole. The prison, whose official name Hermione didn't even know, was even nicknamed for the torture inmates endured there: the painful extraction of their memories and inevitable disconnection from society when—_if_—they were ever released. Even if Draco only spent a handful of years there it would ruin him.

She couldn't do that to him, no matter what he thought he wanted.

If she told the truth, the honest to god truth, Draco would face significantly less time and maybe even have an easier time being transferred over to Azkaban. Sure, she would be severely punished for aiding and abetting a known criminal, but at least he would be back in England. At least she could see him.

She couldn't do that either though, knowing that it was the most selfish choice even if she were to be "punished" (which she even doubted would happen given her War Hero status).

She twisted her quill in frustration, trying to find a middle ground between following Draco's clear instructions and not dooming him to a miserable existence, rotting away in Brazil.

Putting her quill to parchment she began to write her testimony. As she outlined the story of their two weeks together she chose her words carefully, knowing that a Portuguese translator may have a difficult time making sense of her true meaning. And that's exactly what she hoped would happen.

She kept her word and painted Draco as the one responsible for the murders of two Brazilian Aurors and the attempted murder of Harry Potter. She wrote in great detail about his wandless magic—his magical release, as he called it—and how it had inspired the deal between the two of them. She peppered in more aspects of their actual relationship than he would have liked her to: instead of painting him as her kidnapper she suggested a series of unfortunate events led to a kind of mutually beneficial partnership, despite being at odds initially. And finally, she hinted at his history or at least what he had told her. She tried to paint the picture of a runaway, not a nefarious criminal outlaw wreaking havoc wherever the tides took him; rather, she talked about his connections to the island community and his selflessness when leaving Andreia behind so as not to endanger her life.

She hoped her story would sway the Brazilians to be more lenient. She hoped that her diatribe on his wandless magic would interest her own government to push for extradition. And she hoped Draco would not hate her for taking some liberties with their story, perhaps divulging more than appropriate and counting on their need for clarification.

Because really what she needed more than anything right now was some time. She needed time to figure out how to get him out of this mess without condemning him to imprisonment or experimentation. And she needed time to figure out how to use everything they had uncovered about purging magic to work in their favor, not against them.

This would buy her time.

When she moved on to Harry's account she stayed true to his intentions as well. She made it clear that he was an unreliable witness, having suffered a near fatal attack and only remembering Hermione keeping him alive and Draco apparating before reinforcements came in. The Brazilians would only see his testimony as supporting what had already been established at the crime scene. It was her testimony that would color the investigation and tempt them into demanding a clearer picture.

She just hoped they would take the bait.


	10. Part II: Chapter 9

A/N: A bit shorter than usual but I hope you all enjoy :) Chapter 10 will be out at the end of next week-prepare yourselves ;)  
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters do not belong to me.

**Part 2: England**

_Chapter 9_

"Ministério Brasileiro, portkey activating in three minutes and twenty two seconds," droned the sickly sweet voice of the International Portkey Office admin.

Hermione double checked her portfolio, confirming she had all the necessary paperwork in order including copies of her written testimony and a letter from the British Ministry of Magic Department of Mysteries. She glanced around the sparsely populated portkey office on this rainy Friday evening and glanced up at the levitating hourglass quickly emptying grains of sand. Her heart was racing. She had to remind herself to take deep breaths to prevent the onslaught of a potential panic attack.

She was going back to Brazil.

It was only for a couple of hours but her heart raced at the uncertainty before her. Would she succeed? She had spent the last two days holed up in her townhouse riffling through all the reports the Department of Mysteries had granted her on such short notice. Not to mention reading up on Brazilian wizarding law and customs. She shivered, remembering the illustration of the memory extraction process at Desaparecido prison from the late eighteenth century. She doubted it had been updated to match the more humane prisons in the region since.

"Ministério Brasileiro, portkey activating in two minutes and eleven seconds."

She still couldn't believe everything had come together so quickly. After she had sent in the testimonials, she put in an expedited request to the International Portkey Office, citing top secret Auror business. She would definitely be reprimanded for that later but at least it had worked. And, as predicted, the Brazilian Aurors had requested her presence prior to Draco's first hearing, fearing that her written testimonial would confuse the tribunal and reflect poorly on their investigative work. She smiled, thanking the universal fear of shame and failure in front of superiors.

"Ministério Brasileiro, portkey activating in one minute and thirty one seconds."

And then there was the matter of requesting a meeting with the man on trial: Draco. She had been informed that he was released from medical care and awaiting his trial in the Brazilian Auror's holding cells. There was no word as to whether he was being treated properly or even cooperating with the investigation. For all she knew he was charming his captors all with his newfound self-deprecating humor.

Who was she kidding—he had probably already learned how to push their buttons and was roundly celebrated as the most deserving criminal they had ever captured. She bit her lip, worried that he may be suffering more at the hands of his jailors than he would be at his future home at Desaparecido. He had, after all, murdered two of their comrades. She didn't need to be familiar with Brazilian culture to know that that would invite violent reparations.

She wondered what he would do when he saw her. Did he even know she was coming? She had to bring him up to speed quickly on her plan so that he didn't complicate his trial any more than he already had. She prayed they'd have a moment alone but was already going through backup plans if he was constantly chaperoned or their conversation was recorded. She worried he'd see through her farce and expose her to the Aurors, who would question her motivations for getting involved in his case.

"Ministério Brasileiro, portkey activating in fifteen seconds."

She took a deep breath in and reassured herself that she was ready. She certainly looked the part—her no nonsense suit, killer heels, and an immaculate French twist concealing her wild curls. No one would question her motives as anything other than purely professional. And she would act the part as well.

She wouldn't allow her emotions to give her away.

"Ministério Brasileiro, portkey activating in three—"

She joined the few others on the platform.

"two—"

She grabbed one of the handles of the beat up leather purse on the table before them, the others following her lead.

"one!"

One more final breath and she was off.

Xx

"Olá! Bom dia Sra. Granger!" A lithe blonde made her way over to where Hermione sat in the air conditioned hallway of the Brazilian Auror's department building. She rose and politely extended her hand, anticipating the traditional greeting she had studied.

"Bom dia Sra. Oliveira," she gently kissed the air on either side of the woman's perfectly sculpted face while holding her hand gently in her own. Jade Oliveira was not quite what Hermione had expected when she was corresponding with the sister organization but she was slightly more relaxed to see a friendly face greet her in a building that held only uncomfortable memories.

"Fala português?" She asked enthusiastically. Hermione smiled apologetically and shook her head.

"Only enough to make a good first impression." Sra. Oliveira laughed and placed her hand on the back of Hermione's smart charcoal blazer.

"Well the killer shoes certainly help," she said in a heavy Brazilian accent, winking. Hermione smiled in response, pleased that she was making a good impression after all. "We are sorry to have kept you waiting but we appreciate your flexibility in coming over to make sense of a few things."

"It's no trouble at all. I'm pleased to see this case is being handled with such consideration." Flattery certainly never hurt, thought Hermione.

"Well I am not sure if it is 'consideration' or vengeance but Mr. Malfoy is running through the process!" She said almost gleefully. If Hermione didn't know any better she'd think Sra. Oliveira was looking forward to cutting through the justice process and skipping right along to the punishment. Hermione swallowed and made a mental note to keep her guard up around this deceptively friendly Auror.

They continued through a maze of hallways, dizzying Hermione until she was thoroughly lost and at the mercy of Sra. Oliveira. They rarely passed any doors and the ones they did pass always had someone coming or going. She wondered if there was a concealment charm placed on the building, further heightening her earlier concern that little oversight might make these Aurors a bit less disciplined with their protocols.

"Ah! Chegamos! If you would be so kind Sra. Granger to make yourself comfortable and I will return in a moment with my partner and our official stenographer." Hermione smiled and turned to where she was directed, swearing the door had not been there a moment ago.

She stepped through and found herself in a small café with views of Rio's infamous Praia de Ipanema. Hermione, slightly disoriented, looked behind her only to find the door had disappeared. She navigated her way through the empty café seats and chose a shaded and secluded table on the far side—not that it particularly mattered: despite the sensation that she was at the well-known beach, surrounded by tourists, there was in fact no one else as far as the eye could see. Not even the sun warmed her as she leaned out of the shade; the temperature had stayed consistent with the hallway. Always appreciative of magic's many forms, Hermione took her seat and crossed her legs while she waited, staring out at the ocean. A few precious memories seeped into her subconscious and she smiled.

"A beautiful day, no?" Hermione jumped at the smooth voice behind her. And older gentleman—likely in his senior years—walked around her chair and sat beside her. His cool tan linen suit complimented impossibly dark skin. He removed his designer sunglasses and a brilliant set of light green eyes greeted her. He whistled off to the side before Hermione had a chance to respond and a small boy of twelve or thirteen ran over with three small cafés. "For my three beautiful friends."

Hermione gazed at him questioningly but before she could respond, Sra. Oliveira waltzed over to their table with another woman in tow. A stark contrast to her long blonde hair and light tanned skin, the other woman was a head or two shorter and dangerously curvier with dark brown skin and even darker brown eyes to match. Hermione was beginning to feel enormously subconscious but was grateful she hadn't arrived in her normal black robes and mess of an appearance.

"Ah! Sra. Granger you have met our cherished stenographer Sr. da Silva. Do not let his charm fool you—the man is as devious as he is handsome!" Sra. Oliveira kissed both of his cheeks and lowered herself gracefully down next to him, placing her hand gently on his knee. Hermione nearly choked on her café. "And this is my partner, Sra. Amana Rocha."

Hermione smiled as Sra. Rocha made her way to the far side of the table to properly greet her. Once she had settle down, Sra. Rocha sipped the café Sr. da Silva had retrieved for her and looked out over the ocean. As Hermione expected, thanks to her dedication to research, the conversation began with absolutely nothing to do with Draco's case. They peppered her with questions about the wellbeing of her family and how London fared with so many rainy days. Hermione played her part and gushed over the coffee and asked if they had any recommendations for lunch spots while she was in town.

Just as the three women were finishing their second round of cafés and Sr. da Silva had started in on what looked like an avocado milkshake, Sra. Rocha reached out and placed her hand over Hermione's.

"So tell me about how you met Sr. Malfoy. You mentioned in your report he was a 'school mate'?" The ease with which the casual conversation veered towards their business that morning nearly caught Hermione off guard. But she was prepared for this and rolled her eyes dramatically.

"I had the unfortunate luck of being in Mr. Malfoy's class while we attended Hogwarts together. We didn't mix much, being of different…social groups—"Sr. da Silva nodded in understanding while Sras. Oliveira and Rocha looked like two women listening to another gossip. And Hermione supposed, in a way, that's exactly what was happening.

"When our country went to war against Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters, Mr. Malfoy was on the opposite side, fighting for what would ultimately be the losing side." The way Hermione retold the story almost made her gag. She could be talking about school cliques and not the life-altering War that ruined much of her young adult life. But she continued.

"I was aware he had run away from the authorities some years ago so you can imagine my surprise when I found him here." She smiled for them, as if letting them in on an inside joke.

"How very odd indeed! To come upon a criminal! The stories of your bravery must be true." Sra. Oliveira looked deep into her eyes and Hermione knew this was the kind of interrogation her Brazilian counter parts excelled in.

"Criminal? Malfoy? If you count blindly following the orders of his deranged parents as a teenager then yes, he's certainly the criminal type. I, however—" she paused here, pretending like she hadn't rehearsed this speech a thousand times in her bathroom mirror yesterday—"I prefer to think of him as a nuisance. He's been alluding our Aurors from some time now but in all honesty we have bigger fish to fry back in England." Sra. Oliveira laughed at her last statement.

"What a clever turn of phrase. English is such a clever language." Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. She could tell she'd overdone it and endeavored to be less colorful in language, not wanting her hosts to get the impression she was trying to further confuse them with regional idioms and what not.

"So when you met the 'nuisance' Sr. Malfoy, why did you not report his whereabouts to your superiors?" Sra. Rocha picked up the next line of questioning.

"Oh I would have but the most unexpected and frankly, unfortunate thing happened. You see, when we first happened upon each other I completely took him by surprise. And, without realizing what he was doing, he purged a small quantity of his magic! It was truly fascinating and I couldn't believe my luck."

"Was this not the accident that fractured your arm and ribs, nearly killing you?" Sra. Rocha asked calmly.

"Well I wouldn't go that far. It certainly didn't help that he caught me off guard. Anyways, true to his pureblood heritage he couldn't allow himself to walk away from this accident he had caused, so he brought me aboard his ship and took excellent care of me. It wasn't until I was able to question him about the magic he had released that I realized he might be the very thing I had been searching for. We got to talking and we came to an agreement: he would help me with my assignment, volunteering to let me and our team at the Department of Mysteries study his genetics, if I could ensure him safe passage home and some modicum of leniency at his inevitable trial."

Hermione reached down for another sip of café, allowing this version of the story sink into her interrogators' minds. She hoped she was painting a picture of a rather inept Draco. She couldn't let them think of him as some mastermind killer who had contemplated her own murder on more than one occasion.

"So why do you think he murdered two of our best Aurors?" Hermione swallowed her sip of coffee as if it had turned to concrete. She looked at the three of them and could sense the quiet anger simmering below their relaxed surfaces.

"I want to say, on behalf of the entire British Ministry of Magic how deeply sorry we all are to have learned both Sr. Santos and Sr. Schmidt passed away. I cannot excuse Mr. Malfoy's behavior that day nor will I try. All I can say is that the series of events that led up to that fateful morning, from Sr. Santos approaching me at the marina to Mr. Malfoy apparating off his own boat and leaving me with a dying fellow Auror, seemed to trigger some sort of a fight or flight response in him. In all the time I've known him from school and the two weeks we spent working together on this magical purge mystery, I never saw him act so violently." Hermione didn't need to hide the emotion from her speech. She could tell that her interrogators were appreciative of her sympathies towards their loss.

"He must face the consequences of his actions," she continued. "Both here and back home in England. But his role in our magical purge research is paramount. I and my colleagues just hope once the coward has served his time he can finally be of some actual use to our society beyond making reparations for the damage his family cause during the War."

The three Brazilians nodded their heads and exchanged looks. Sr. da Silva stood, as if understanding some silent communication between his colleagues, and kissed Hermione's cheeks before departing through what looked to be an office door on the beach. Sras. Oliveira and Rocha both stood and smiled down at her.

"Muito obrigada Sra. Granger. It was lovely to speak with you today. I think I speak for both my colleague and myself when I say we have a much better understanding of our Sr. Malfoy and his role in recent events." Sra. Rocha kissed Hermione's cheeks again and then made her way over to the same door Sr. da Silva had recently exited. Hermione looked into the warm eyes of Sra. Oliveira and tried to mask her unease with a polite smile. She smiled in return and then ushered them both towards the door.

Again in the never-ending corridor, she placed her hand on Hermione's back and started leading through the maze. She spoke animatedly about a local sushi restaurant she thought Hermione might enjoy and echoed her colleague's earlier statements when she stopped them both in front of a new door.

"Sra. Granger, it was a pleasure to meet you. I will not be joining you for your meeting with Sr. Malfoy but I must thank you for saving us a good deal of time cross examining him during the trail." Hermione stilled.

"Pardon?"

"Ah, we do things differently over here I am thinking. Normally we would question the individual on trial to squeeze out every detail of the crime—we so rarely have eye witnesses who survive these sorts of heinous crimes. But to have one here and with the credibility of the British Ministry of Magic behind her is a dream. I imagine the tribunal will only read and listen to your testimonial prior to making a decision as to the fate of Sr. Malfoy. Especially because he has been—_uncooperative_ since he joined us here."

"I'm happy to help expedite the process." Hermione smiled and then watched as the positively serpentine Sra. Oliveira wove her way around the corner.

When she was out of sight, Hermione allowed herself a quiet moment of victory. She had been hoping they wouldn't cross-examine Draco. She had read that such conversations had often led to more serious charges brought against the defendant and she was slightly relieved to hear that he couldn't dig himself into a deeper hole now that she had intervened. She just hopped her performance would cause the tribunal to reconsider the kidnapping and wandless magic charges.

With a renewed sense of confidence in herself, Hermione turned toward the door Sra. Oliveira had shown her to. She was acutely aware of the fact that Draco was likely already inside, waiting for her. She took a deep breath and made sure she still looked the part of a professional—not of an accomplice. Given the recent conversation and her reception, there was little doubt in her mind that Sras. Oliveira and Rocha would be watching their interaction. Whether she could see them or not.

She placed her hand on the door and pushed, ready to make her final show and follow through on her promise.


	11. Part II: Chapter 10

A/N: Enjoy! Chapter 11 will be up later this week.  
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters do not belong to me

**Part 2: England**

_Chapter 10_

The sunlight was almost blinding when Hermione walked through the door of Draco's holding cell. She blinked rapidly and shaded her face with her hand, squinting to make sense of the new environment she'd just walked into.

The ground beneath her rocked gently from side to side.

A light breeze smelling of sea salt tickled her neck.

The familiar sound of lapping waves dominated an otherwise eerie silence.

Hermione's breath hitched as it slowly dawned on her that she was standing on the deck of _Onward_, staring out at cloudless blue skies and an unnaturally calm ocean. She instantly put up her guard, feeling violated by the trick.

I'm not here, she reminded herself. This isn't real.

She quickly scanned her surroundings noting that every aspect of the magicked boat was mapped perfectly to her memory of Draco's. But small, almost unnoticeable, inconsistencies reminded her it was all a rouse: the sun shone brightly but its warmth failed to heat the metal railings of _Onward_; the breeze rattled the sail but a familiar squeaky pulley remained silent; even the smell of the sea salt was too sweet and lacked the hints of sweat, blood, and tears Hermione would never forget lingered over her experience on this boat.

No, this was not _Onward_.

But it was some form of cruel and unusual torture.

She heard a small sniffle on her right and turned quickly towards the stern of the boat. There, crouched against the mast of the ship—her favorite spot, she remembered—sat an impossibly small and defeated looking man. She instantly recognized the disheveled dirty blonde locks and though his head was between his knees and his arms wrapped around them, she could see the edges of the Dark Mark peeking out from his left forearm.

Draco.

Hermione did her best to quickly compose herself, initially taken aback by his sudden appearance. It felt like years had passed since she had last seen him on this boat and yet it also seemed like no time had passed at all. She felt her heart racing and she schooled her expression to reveal nothing, should a certain set of devious Aurors be watching. She cleared her throat, in an attempt to get his attention.

He didn't move.

She cleared her throat again, hesitant to trust her voice and what might tumble out.

Finally he glanced up, gray eyes reaching her brown.

It felt like their world came to a grinding halt: the breeze died, the waves calmed, time paused for the briefest of moments as Hermione searched for the Draco she once knew.

"Que porra é isto?" Hissed Draco, never tearing his eyes away from her. Hermione inwardly cringed at the venom in his voice, reminding her of their early years at Hogwarts.

"Excuse me?" She asked quietly, doing her best to sound confused by the language and not hurt by the tone of his voice. He laughed—it was a deep low laugh and seemed forced.

"Are we going to pretend now that you don't understand me?"

"Mr. Malfoy I'm not sure I—"

"Save it," he snapped. "You may have her voice and even her pompous air of Gryffindor superiority down but I know it's you Rocha. You'll have to do better than that." He sunk back down into his earlier position, finally breaking the incendiary eye contact that had pinned her against the bow of the ship.

Hermione realized that she had to convince Draco it was genuinely her but also clue him in on her farce before he blew her cover. She thought for a moment, hoping to find some subtle movement or turn of phrase that would tip him off without rousing suspicions from her onlookers.

She removed her wand from the inside of her blazer and studied his reaction, hoping it would confirm her fear that the Brazilians had done more than utilize illusions in their alternative interrogation methods. Sure enough, she saw him tense and knew that he was still watching her every move and preparing for what she assumed was a regular assault.

Slowly she crouched down and placed her wand—an extension of herself and all that she held dear—gently on the deck. She trusted that even if it did roll into the ocean below that it would be easy enough to retrieve once she left the holding cell. Never taking her eyes off of Draco, whose head had perked back up and whose gaze was once again burning holes into her own, she rose and leaned against the railing.

"No magic, remember?" She said softly. She waited a beat, hoping beyond hope he would realize it was her before diving into her speech. "Mr. Malfoy I've come to inform you that the British Ministry of Magic, Department of Mysteries has taken an interest in my testimony of our time together and will be petitioning the Ministério Brasileiro for leniency in your sentencing and extradition at the earliest convenience." She withdrew a roll of parchment—a copy of her testimony that she was sure the Aurors hadn't let him review—and held it out to him. "I've brought you a copy of said testimony. Please be sure to review it at your earliest convenience and alert Sras. Oliveira and Rocha if anything else comes to mind that you feel might help our Department get a start on the research while you await your trial. You can trust that your message will find its way back to Britain."

Gray eyes looked into her brown ones questioningly. She worried for a moment that he wouldn't accept she was real or worse, that she was real and that her cold, professional demeanor was as well. After what felt like an eternity, he slowly rose, using the mast to steady himself. Her breath hitched when she realized that he was in pain as well as from seeing the familiar presence he adopted when at full height. Deep in her belly she felt butterflies. Even battered and assessing her with skepticism he was powerfully commanding on the boat. She swallowed roughly and willed her suddenly dry mouth away.

Perhaps he sensed the mix of fear and arousal pulsing from her side of the boat, or perhaps his interest in the parchment outweighed his mistrust, but slowly he moved towards her. He raked his eyes up and down her body as if to engrave every inch and subtle change into his memory. Her cheeks reddened slightly and she turned suddenly to face the ocean, unable to mask her warring emotions much longer. Get ahold of yourself, she scolded the randy woman inside.

She felt his presence before she saw him lean back against the railing beside her. He radiated warmth, despite the crisp cool temperature of the holding cell. She kept her gaze forward, fearful of what could happen next and hoping he had understood.

"You look awful Granger," he commented nonchalantly. She relaxed. Back to 'Granger'. A good sign. "Your ribs don't seem fully healed." She glanced over at him, surprised by his keen observation.

"Some of us were busy saving your life," she quipped, echoing his words from what felt like a lifetime ago. If he hadn't known it was her before he certainly did now.

"Let me have a look at that parchment." She handed it to him and waited while he read it over. She felt him tense after a moment and surmised he had reached the part where she divulged more information than necessary on their shared past and her assessment of his criminality. After a moment he pocketed the parchment and placed his hands on the railing, supporting him as he leaned back.

A buzz went through her body when she realized his pinky pushed up ever so slightly against hers. Was this his way of accepting what she had done for him? Would he follow her lead and adopt her testimony as truth? She burned to ask him but was reminded of the prying eyes that no doubt were watching their every move. Even the subtle touch of their pinkies might give them away. She turned suddenly and made her way across the boat, snatching up her wand and distancing herself.

"I assume they will want to confirm that parchment matches the testimony I already gave them so don't get too attached. Let me know if you can think of anything else that might help in the research." A door suddenly appeared at the bow of the ship and Hermione's heart sank. She had every intention of marching straight through it but felt glued to the deck, unwilling to let go of this surreal moment. With the trial looming overhead, Hermione thought this might be the last time she and Draco would be able to meet face to face for a very long time. She chanced a glance over to him.

It was subtle but she saw the pain etched in those gray eyes. Not the same kind she had seen when he was hoisting himself up with the help of the mast—no, not a physical pain. This was something deeper. For only a moment Hermione could swear she and Draco had shared the same thoughts. The same realization that this could be the end. Of what she shuddered to consider.

"I'll do my best to keep you informed," he said even toned.

She wanted to scream. At him, at the Brazilians, at the luck that brought her to this god forsaken country and to the very dock where Draco kept _Onward_. She wouldn't deny her feelings for him had grown exponentially over the short amount of time they had spent together on this boat but she'd be damned if she let them govern her. In that moment Hermione Granger hated how he made her feel subordinate to her own emotions.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said too curtly, moving to the door briskly. She couldn't breathe under the weight of her warring emotions. She had to get out.

"Hermione," he said softly and with finality. She lapsed and glanced over her shoulder, all mean thoughts evaporated as she held his gaze one final time.

With a confident push and only two small steps, Hermione found herself staring at the whitewashed wall of the winding Brazilian Aurors Department's corridors. She glanced behind her, foolishly hoping he would be standing in the doorway, only to see the door had disappeared. He was gone.

The weight of that realization slowly seeped in and Hermione felt her legs begin to tremble. Were it not for the familiar noises of the reception floating towards her she would have let her emotions overtake her right there and then.

But Hermione Granger would not give in. She had found him, as she had promised. And she had set into place the series of events that would one day—she prayed—return him to Britain. So that she could repay him for saving her life.

And maybe, just maybe, so that she could save his.

Xx

It was nearly time to make her way back to the International Portkey Office but Hermione had one final and important stop before leaving the now suffocating Ministério Brasileiro. The Brazilian sister Department of Mysteries was not as, well, mysterious as Britain's and Hermione was relieved to let down her guard a little in more familiar surroundings. Gone were the endless white corridors of the Auror's department and in their place were open air hallways that connected seemingly separated buildings through gardens and outdoor lab settings. Hermione found herself peeking into several greenhouses only to forget what she had seen inside once she continued on her way. The simple yet effective magic impressed her.

"Sra. Granger?" A deep voice drew her attention from behind. She spun around, curious as to who might know her in these halls. A tall gentleman, perhaps no more than 40, walked confidently towards her. He was huge—nearly twice her size and easily towering over her. But his smile was wide and welcoming, creating dimples into light brown skin and giving his gentle brown eyes a twinkling effect. If Hermione weren't so caught up in the emotional turbulence of reuniting with Draco she may have allowed her gaze to appreciate the older wizard.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"Not yet but I'm Dr. Turolo, I believe we have a mutual friend—a Miss Padma Patil?" Hermione's eyes widened with recognition and she met him with her hand extended, kissing each of his cheeks.

"Yes of course! I was just making my way to your office—did I miss it?"

"No no, you're heading in the right direction—"he walked alongside her and placed his large palm on her back, guiding her towards what she assumed was the door to his private office. She warmed under his touch and felt the subtle pang of betrayal, instantly shying away from him. Dr. Turolo looked down at her, sensing her movement and frowned ever so slightly. If Hermione had been paying attention to the man instead of the sprawling office before her she would have seen the momentary curiosity in his eyes. "Please, make yourself at home." He gestured to a set of large, leather wing-back chairs tucked away in the corner surrounded by countless bookshelves. Hermione marveled at the sight and reverted to old habits, absorbing as many titles and authors as possible as she made her way to one of the chairs.

"Thank you again Dr. Turolo for seeing me on such short notice. I'll have to thank Padma as well."

"Well don't thank her too soon—I may not be of any help. And please, call me Nico." He smiled warmly at her again. Hermione smiled in return and nodded her head. "So what can I help you with today?"

"I'd like to speak to you about magical purging and the British criminal your Aurors are currently holding." Dr. Turolo stood suddenly and made his way to the large marble desk, picking up a pair of reading glasses before returning to his seat.

"I have a feeling I will be reading something shortly," he joked. Hermione smiled again and blushed a little, starting to withdraw both a copy of her testimony and the letter from Padma's team at the Department of Mysteries. She handed him both and allowed him to read through their contents. As he read she studied him out of the corner of her eye: he did not show any emotion as he read through her testimony and Hermione wondered what he could be thinking. Unlike the other Brazilians she had met that morning, Dr. Nico Turolo seemed far less performative and much more honest in his reactions. So then why wasn't he reacting to her testimony?

He moved on to the letter Padma had written on behalf of Hermione, outlining the department's interest in studying Draco. Hermione recalled how easy it was to pique Padma's interest and convince her to advocate for a more lenient sentencing if they were going to continue with research activities once Draco was extradited.

She watched as he reread parts of both documents and a subtle frown came over his otherwise calm features. She noticed the slight permanence of his worry lines and soon noticed the graying temples that blended in with his thick head of dark brown hair. Perhaps he was older than she had previously assumed?

Her thoughts were temporarily put on hold when he shifted in his seat and placed both pieces of parchment on the small side table next to him. He looked at Hermione then and seemed to study her for a moment. She felt instantly awkward and shifter in her chair. He was assessing her. Like a specimen in his lab.

"So," he said slowly, "have you had a chance to see Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes," she replied, conscious of keeping an even tone. Though Dr. Turolo was friendly and Hermione did not feel nearly as guarded around him as she had with Oliveira and Rocha, she was still wary of divulging too much to the Brazilians. And the way he studied her was sending off her first line of alarm bells.

"That must have been—"he paused, as if searching for the appropriate term—"straining." He smiled softly at her and Hermione swore she saw an ounce of pity in his eyes.

"In what sense?"

"Well from your testimony and from the fact that you have traveled all the way to Brazil without fully recovering from your injuries, I would imagine that it has been both physically and emotionally draining to be back here and with Mr. Malfoy."

"Oh, yes, I suppose that's a fair observation." She looked down and considered his assessment.

"I apologize, I did not mean to assume or overstep."

"Thank you Nico but no apology necessary. You're right that it was straining. My ribs are still bothering me a bit and these shoes certainly aren't helping." She laughed a little, trying to break the mounting tension in the room. He remained silent, watching her; the alarm bells growing louder in her mind.

"So leniency? I gather from Padma's note you'd both like me and my department to petition the tribunal for leniency."

"Not necessarily a shortening of his sentencing—we are devastated by the deaths of Sr. Santos and—"

"Yes, yes, those two oafs." Hermione's eyes widened with shock while Dr. Turolo simply smirked. It was a painfully familiar smirk at that. "I have to admit Ms. Granger—Hermione, if I might—I am not a fan of Aurors. Certainly not the ones that work here or the ones in Britain." Hermione cocked her head, intrigued by this unexpected gesture of good faith.

"How so?" She was genuinely curious.

"Oh let's just say before my comfortable position here as Director of Genetic Inquiry I wasn't always so law abiding." His eyes twinkled. "In fact, I can remember more than one occasion when Dumbledore warned me the Aurors would be nipping at my heels if I did not straighten out."

"You knew Professor Dumbledore?"

"Of course. He was my headmaster after all before he was yours."

"I had no idea you were a Hogwarts alumn. Ravenclaw, I presume?"

"Slytherin, actually." His eyes twinkled again. So that's what it is, thought Hermione. "I assume as an Auror you were in Gryffindor?"

"How did you know I was an Auror?" The man was full of inconveniently astute observations. Very few people in the world knew Hermione was an Auror. Most assumed she was a liaison of some sort for Shacklebolt, often found with her head in the archives or discussing diplomacy with other representatives of foreign ministries. In fact, her role and training as an Auror was under strict secrecy—only Shacklebolt, Harry, and a handful of others knew. Instead, she allowed the world to see her as a bookish ambassador of sorts. No one need know that she was often deployed on the Ministry's most secretive and sensitive of missions. It was one of the reasons she had been sent to Brazil in the first place: to find information on magical purging without drawing the attention of the Ministério Brasileiro or alerting the world to the seemingly uncontrollable epidemic of pureblood deaths rising in Britain.

"When you know one, you know them all I'm afarid. And, truth be told, it was a guess. You confirmed it quite easily though." He smirked again.

"Alright, so you know something about me. Tell me Nico, are you willing to help me? To help my Ministry?"

"Hermione you can rest assured that I will do all I can to lobby for the protection of your _specimen_." Hermione involuntarily flinched at hearing Draco referred to something as meaningless as a specimen. Dr. Turolo's eyebrow cocked and she sensed he had just gathered more insight into her life than she had been prepared to share. "That is, unless you had plans to break him out before you returned to England?"

She was on her feet, her wand at his throat in milliseconds. She saw the fear flash in his eyes and then his calm, warm demeanor fall back into place.

"I see I may have overstepped in my assumptions."

"It seems you have," she whispered, locking her eyes with his. They remained like this for a moment, Hermione challenging him to expose her true motivations for visiting Brazil.

"Do you love him?" He asked quietly. Hermione clenched her jaw.

"No."

"I don't believe you."

"I don't need you to. I need you to protect him from whatever Desaparecido is going to throw at him over the years. He's useless to us if his memories are gone." She waited for his response, aware that to any onlooker she was threatening him into this situation.

"I want to be there when you study him. That is my only condition."

"Nico, I don't think you're in a position to negotiate with me."

"Hermione, you don't strike me as the kind of woman who would let her emotions overrule her common sense. Let me help you. Let me be part of this." Hermione considered his request. On the one hand it would incentivize him to keep Draco safe while he served out his time in Brazil; but on the other, it would forever entwine their lives. He would have access to Draco's memories, his genetics. And he would be privy to her interactions with Draco. She wasn't so sure he wouldn't use all of those against them one day. But for what, she wasn't yet sure.

"Deal." Everything in her told her to refuse and walk away. But she was fighting a losing battle. Her morning had revealed as much.

She would do anything to ensure Draco's future stretched beyond the walls of Desaparecido. She would do anything to save his life. And she was kidding herself if she thought it was just for the science or some cosmic rebalancing of the scales of justice. Despite the raging emotions she had continued to beat back since that last day on _Onward_, Hermione wasn't so blind as to deny there was some kind of connection she felt with Draco. Her inner Gryffindor pushed her to partner with Nico and trust he wouldn't betray them; but a soft Slytherin voice in the back of her mind told her to start planning for the inevitable betrayal.

"Deal." Dr. Turolo smiled up at her.

Xx

The townhouse was quiet and the last moments of night hung in the cool air when she made it home from her travels. The time change would throw off her weekend but all Hermione could focus on was getting into her bed.

She trudged up the stairs, past Ginny's slightly ajar bedroom door and crashed face-first into the plush duvet encasing her bed. She was bone tired. She felt like she had been training for a marathon all week and today was the race. All she craved now was sweet surrender to sleep. Only removing her shoes and blazer, she crawled under the covers and turned on her side to look out the window. The sun would be rising soon enough.

As Hermione slipped into sleep, the events of the day replayed in her head. She felt confident she had performed according to plan. Draco would be sentenced for the murders but granted some measure of leniency in the interest of research that could benefit both Britain and Brazil. Nico would see to that.

She prayed her agreement with Nico wouldn't come round to bite her in the ass one day. She had been a fool to believe—even if only for a moment—that he was noble and trustworthy. But she had also made it clear she was not one to be toyed with (wobbly high heels be damned). And if her reputation preceded her like she knew it did, he would think twice about crossing her.

But now it was time for sleep. She had done all she could think of to buy Draco some time. It was out of her hands now. All she could do was hope, wait, and sleep.


	12. Part II: Chapter 11

A/N: A bit late but one of my favorite chapters to write-girl talk, time jumps, reunions, oh my!-hope you all enjoy and, as always, check back next week for the following chapter. Follow and review!  
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters do not belong to me.

**Part 2: England**

_Chapter 11_

"Nico sounds like a slippery one—I'd stay on my toes if I were you, Hermione." Ginny stood and, armed with yet another empty bottle of wine, made a show of clearing some plates and glasses before exiting the small living room in Harry's flat.

The three had been camped out at Harry's for the better part of that Sunday, catching up on the near three weeks Hermione had been abroad. It felt familiar to be back in Harry's cozy flat: Hermione could recall sleeping on the worn chesterfield more than a few times after particularly long days of Auror training; the deep red stain spotting the otherwise pristine beige rug from when Ron had been too pissed to remember to use his glass to drink the wine; or even the rickety coat rack that always held Harry's Invisibility Cloak and Sirius' traveling cloak, as if either got much use anymore. Hermione felt more than comfortable in Harry's space despite lingering reminders of their past at every corner. As Ginny busied herself in the kitchen, Hermione found herself lost in memories and staring blankly at the mantle place decorated with still and moving photos collected over the years.

"She's right you know. That Nico bloke sounds dodgy." Harry repositioned himself on the chesterfield so that he was closer to Hermione's seat on the scarlet ottoman. He grabbed a half full bottle of wine and poured a sizable amount into her empty glass and then topped off his own.

"I keep telling myself it'll be worth it if he can get Draco leniency. But it's never that easy, is it?" She took a long drag of her wine, purposefully avoiding Harry's inquisitive eyes.

"And the leniency is for the purpose of this 'magical purging' research." It wasn't a question. Hermione may be a bit pissed but she wasn't daft—Harry was doing his best to steer her in a direction he saw best. Safe. Predictable.

Were she not a bit pissed she would have shrugged that off as just another way Harry still saw himself as her protector of sorts. Something that usually slightly miffed her but largely made her feel closer to her best friend. But tonight she had had at least six glasses of wine.

"Sure Harry. Let's go with the practical reason." He smiled a bit at her sarcasm and that annoyed her even further. She was about to tell him to shove that smile up his ass when Ginny announced she was going to bed before she got the urge to open yet another bottle. She made her way back into the living room, giving Hermione a quick hug before stumbling into Harry's lap and planting a large wet kiss on his stained lips. Hermione watched as a silent understanding passed between them and felt her heart twist when Harry leaned up and pecked Ginny on the cheek. The intimate gesture and familiarity of the two pained Hermione and she hated that her first thought went to Draco—a man who had bullied and infuriated her for the better part of a decade only to save her life, make her laugh, and whose lips she could still feel branded onto her skin. She audibly swallowed and took another deep gulp of her wine.

"Alright, Gin's gone. Talk."

"I don't even know where to begin," she replied, resigned to the inevitability of this conversation. There was a moment or two of silence as Harry swept his eyes over Hermione's defeated posture and slightly glossed over eyes.

"How are you?" She cocked an eyebrow, surprised at the question.

"Fine, you?"

"Hermione."

"I'm—I'm putting one foot in front of the other."

"Are you finding that hard to do lately?" Hermione chuckled. She could see Ginny's effect on Harry shining through more and more every day.

"I'm finding it easier to focus on what's right in front of me rather than think about what's up ahead in the distance. Or behind me for that matter." Harry nodded his head, thinking through the haze of the alcohol.

"Do you miss him?" He finally asked.

"Yes." She wasn't ashamed to admit that. She'd been stuck on a boat with him for two weeks. Her only source of companionship and conversation. She missed having someone like him around—someone who knew how to banter and dive deep into conversations; someone who felt comfortable in the silence and wasn't awkward about leaving her alone to do her own thing; someone who surprised her at every turn—almost as if she were meeting him all over again for the first time but actually finding his presence enjoyable. Of course she would miss his sudden absence.

"So you must be thinking about him often." Harry took a quick sip as Hermione tried to gauge his temperament. Maybe it was the wine but she was feeling a little bold and maybe she actually wanted someone to confide in for a change.

"It was really difficult to see him again in Brazil. He was…more like we remember him from Hogwarts at first. Biting. Closed off."

"He's not always like that?"

"No. Not on the boat. Not after a little while at least." Hermione found herself lost in memories again before she felt Harry's hand on her knee. She looked into his eyes and smiled politely, reflexively.

"Tell me what you're thinking Hermione. I'm here to listen."

"I just don't know why I feel this way. It's silly, really, but it's almost like I'm acting and feeling a certain way and then I'm also watching myself as I act and feel that way. And the version of me that's watching knows that I'm being ridiculous and foolish. _He's a Malfoy_. He _kidnapped_ me for Merlin's sake! I keep trying to reason with myself that I was caught up in the moment or feeling like I needed to repay him for saving my life but the feelings just aren't going away, Harry. And it's driving me crazy and the only thing that makes even a modicum of sense is, of course, work related." Hermione took a deep breath and then another sip of wine when she saw Harry's eyes widen at her outburst.

"So this version of you, the one that's actually acting and feeling—not the one watching—what's going on in her mind?"

"You really want to know about this, Harry?"

"I'm asking aren't I?"

"I just…this feels like girl talk or something. Surely you don't want to hear me yammer on about my complicated feelings for someone we all detested not so long ago. Or still do." Harry rose and walked over to a small cabinet that Hermione knew held stronger liquor. He removed a half empty bottle of what looked like scotch and poured a couple fingers into two dingy glasses. Hermione smiled a bit and thought he might be trying to add some masculinity to the conversation.

"When we were on the boat," his abrupt change in topic took Hermione by surprise and she leaned forward when he handed her a glass of the amber liquid, "I couldn't help but think about Ginny." She arched her eyebrow, imploring him to explain. "I mean, even in my adrenaline-fueled daze—and maybe in part because of that—I started thinking about the conversation Gin and I had before we left to find the Horcruxes. I remember thinking that I couldn't put her in danger—not while Voldemort was still out there. I thought I was saving her in some way by telling her we couldn't be together." Harry sat back down on the chesterfield and quickly looked over at the small picture of Ginny at Bill and Fleur's wedding reception.

"But she forgave you for that Harry. Didn't she?"

"She did but that's not the point. The point is, later she told me how much worse I had made it by leaving her. And I found myself thinking about that conversation because I saw the same expression she gave me when Malfoy told you to stay. Not just on the boat with me, but to stay in your life. Not his. I saw how devastated you were, Hermione."

"Oh."

"Do you love him?"

"No."

"Could you?"

"I—I'm not…Harry don't ask me to answer that," she whispered down at the drink in her hands. A fat tear slowly made its way down her cheek and she wiped it away quickly, embarrassed at the sudden show of emotion.

"Look, I don't know what happened on that boat. And maybe you're right: maybe the close quarters and the fact that he didn't let you die made you look at him differently. I guess all I'm trying to say is that you shouldn't be ashamed of how you felt, or what you did, or how you're feeling now, or even what you're doing now. You're only human, Hermione. Despite that terrifying brain of yours." He smiled over at her and she felt another tear roll down her cheek.

"It just happened so fast, Harry. It was like one moment I couldn't stand to look at him and the next…well the next…I can't bear to think of him rotting away in some cell. I can't imagine never seeing him again. I really miss him, Harry. But I feel stupid and wrong for missing him too." Harry leaned over and squeezed her knee again, passing her a napkin leftover on the coffee table. She wiped away her tears and hiccupped a little, drawing another gentle squeeze from Harry's hand.

"You're not stupid Hermione. Or wrong. You're just human. And sometimes that means complicated and conflicting emotions we can't even begin to understand."

"Thank you, Harry."

"Of course." They sat in silence for another moment or two before returning to their scotch.

As Hermione drank she considered Harry's words and realized how much better she felt now that the dilemma had been voiced. And even though the feelings of shame and disgust with herself didn't evaporate immediately, she felt the power in acknowledging that whatever feelings she did have for Draco were perhaps understandable. Not because of their previous situation, but because he was a man and she was a woman. And sometimes that was enough to spark something deeper.

A tapping on the window drew both Harry and Hermione away from their thoughts. A small black owl—a standard Ministry owl—hovered in front of Harry's living room window, a tightly wound scroll of parchment paper gripped in its claws. Even before Harry had retrieved the letter and began to read out loud, Hermione knew it had to be an update on Draco's trial.

"It's from Shacklebolt: 'the Brazilians have finished their deliberations. Malfoy will be sentenced to three years at Desaparecido prison. A Dr. Nicolas Turolo is overseeing his ongoing treatment during that time and will be in touch to coordinate with Ms. Granger and Ms. Patil.'"

Silence.

Hermione slowly stood and began the short walk into the kitchen where she swirled some soapy water around in her glass before leaving it in the sink. Harry watched her from the window and waited. She grabbed her belongings and the thin jacket she'd brought with her in case of summer rain and made her way over to hug Harry.

"I have to go Harry. Padma and Nico are going to need a lot from—"

"You don't need to explain. Let me know when you get home safely, okay? And I'll see you at lunch tomorrow if you're thinking of coming into the office." She nodded and turned to leave. "Hermione?" She looked back. "It's only three years. He can make it."

"I know," she smiled sadly. "It's not him I'm worried about."

Xx

Hermione would always remember that first year as a blur: both because of the sheer amount of work she accomplished in that short period of time and because of the indifference that gradually extinguished the novelty of her normal life.

After the decision was announced and once all the logistics of Draco's transfer to Desaparecido were sorted out, Hermione dove head first into her work. She spent long nights with Padma and her team learning everything they knew about magical purging. Together, they chased down several streams of research that took Hermione to new magical communities she didn't know previously existed: she spent a month in Mongolia with a nomadic community that showed signs of successful purges; the holidays working with a ethically-questionable chemist based in Australia who had developed a potion to jumpstart a purge; a few weeks here and there hovering around the border between the United States and Canada observing a handful of communities that shared similar traits to the Brazilian island community she was originally studying. None yielded the cure or solution to England's own pureblood deaths, but Hermione and the team remained vigilant and catalogued the insights they gathered in hopes it would spark a breakthrough at a later point.

Sometime between the trip to Australia and then to the States, Shacklebolt confronted her on splitting her time between pay-roll responsibilities and this "pet project" with the Department of Mysteries. He was concerned she was spending too much of her time working on the magical purge project while her other, _diplomatic_ responsibilities were left at the wayside. Determined to stay a fixture on Padma's team, she doubled down on her activities and made a show of completing her projects as an undercover Auror more quickly. In the end she earned a promotion and secured herself a spot as an informal advisor to the Department of Mysteries' Investigation into Magical Purging.

Despite her uncanny ability to stay busy and focused on the task ahead, there were times she was brutally reminded of the man withering away across the world.

Due to her advisory role on the team, her contact with Nico and through him Draco, were only ever second-hand. Occasionally she would hear the odd comment from Padma:

"Lucy, will you send Dr. Turolo the files on Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy? There must be something in those files that will break Draco's silence." Or,

"I'm not sure—his penmanship is really atrocious. I think that word is 'Andreia'? I'll floo him to confirm and to urge him to charm his quill." Or,

"Memory recall has slowed over seven percent and it seems some memories are disappearing all together. Per the notes 'mention of vital details in the death of Dumbledore are either missing or limited to a single sense—subject becomes confused and then doubtful when I provide previously mentioned details or probe on other senses'. Randolph: add 'delayed memory recall' to the board, please."

Each crumb of information was a devastating reminder that while she continued on with her life, he was wasting away. And the more news trickled in, the more Hermione felt herself go cold and dive deeper into tasks with neat conclusions: travel here; find this person; ask about this practice; translate these notes; attend this meeting; find the next lead.

In the New Year, Padma invited Hermione to join her in Brazil to oversee a new therapy Nico had planned for Draco and a handful of other prisoners at Desaparecido. She politely declined, providing an easy lie that put the blame on her day job. As Padma and the team prepared for the short journey, she wandered Muggle London in a fit—torn between flooing over to Brazil, optics be damned, and sinking back into the routines she had so carefully constructed to keep her focused and impartial. A part of her longed to be with him again: to see him smile back at her, to hear her name in his voice, to feel his fingers running through her hair; but she couldn't bear the thought of seeing him weakened and changed by the pain of imprisonment. And she hated herself for that cowardliness.

Time passed and her routines only fortified. Hours turned into days turned into weeks that Hermione went without thinking about Draco and her guilt. Then, one fine summer morning, she noticed the small red dot placed on her wall calendar marking the anniversary of Draco's trial. Overwhelmed by the sudden realization that there were still two more years to go, her indifference shattered and she cried for the first time since she returned to London.

Xx

The second year of Draco's imprisonment saw the rise of concern pouring in from all of Hermione's friends and colleagues. Harry and Ginny eloped in early summer and the ensuing celebration at the Burrow seemed to tip off every member of Hermione's community that she was severely lacking in a social life. Thus began the series of what Hermione would later refer to as the Parade of Suitors—it seemed like each of her friends knew someone who knew someone who knew someone that would be her perfect match. Summer and early fall weekends were filled with awkward dates and rehearsed introductions (or, in some cases, reintroductions). A few Hermione grew close to and if the romance didn't last past a few dates the friendships at the very least lingered on.

In late October a colleague of hers set her up with his cousin—a bookish fellow three years Hermione's junior and new to London from Dublin. They had begun a regular cadence of coffee dates at a local bookshop that felt even too stereotypical for her but that he seemed to delight in visiting. Coffee dates soon became lunch which eventually became dinner and more unexpected meetings like nights at the opera. She enjoyed his company and the attraction was real but once the holidays drew near and requests for formal introductions rolled in from her closest friends, Hermione panicked.

She ended it quickly—relying on a script of break-up excuses: it's not you, it's me; I think we're just growing apart; now's not a good time for me. And even after they had said their final goodbyes and Hermione shed a few silent tears for what could have been, she felt confident in her choice to end the budding relationship.

Perhaps sensing her lonely despair, Ginny and a few other female colleagues made it their mission to smother Hermione in all things sister power. Ginny, Fleur, and Hermione traveled to Paris for a girl's weekend in the spring and then Padma extended an invitation to her sister's hen party. She treasured these moments with the women in her life but felt the subtle sting whenever they looked at her with pity—even if only for a moment—and reminded her that things wouldn't change even though they were married, or thinking of kids, or leaving London, or dealing with a myriad of other adult circumstances that just seemed to evade Hermione.

It wasn't until that fateful morning when she peered at her wall calendar and saw another familiar red dot that she resolved to make a drastic change.

Xx

Everyone had been shocked to hear Hermione had bought a cottage on the coast. That she was leaving the townhouse she and Ginny had shared for over a decade. That she was even giving away a number of her treasured books to make space for the significantly smaller dwelling she'd soon be moving into once the current tenants left. Ginny, despite living with Harry for over a year now, sobbed and demanded they throw one final house party before the movers came to collect the years' worth of memories stitched into the fabric of the home. Never mind that Hermione and Ginny had not thrown a house party since their early twenties—but who was Hermione to deny such a simple request?

On her thirtieth birthday Hermione bought a sailboat and docked it in the little harbor reserved by her property. She was fairly certain the gentleman had squeezed out more than the thing was worth but she had fallen in love the moment she had leaned against its mast. It was on the smaller side and would certainly accommodate her desire to learn, finally, how to sail. She set to work on repairing it and dug into all the literature she could find on ships, mechanics, and sailing. Needless to say she had to push aside her own pride on more than one occasion and bring in an extra pair of hands and eyes. But it was in these moments of humility that Hermione met the gang of retired shippers who knew more about boats and the ocean than a collection of books ever could. Soon she was hosting this small group of older men over for lunch and after dinner drinks on more than one occasion to talk shop. They developed an odd sort of friendship—one that surprised Harry, Ginny, and other Londoners—and she found herself relishing her time learning from these veteran sailors.

Between informal sailing lessons and constantly tinkering with the boat, Hermione took up cooking in a way that would make Molly Weasley proud. The first few months were the toughest and there was more than one occasion when she was confident she had caused the food poisoning that seemed to plague her friends these days. But overtime she became more comfortable moving around her small kitchen and experimenting with different flavors and techniques. She fancied cooking to be a more pleasant smelling version of Potions and smiled wistfully at the image of the late Professor Snape in an apron. By the time summer rolled around, she was often offering to bring side dishes and desserts to Mrs. Weasley's weekly Sunday dinners.

Though she wouldn't hear them say, her community was slowly beginning to think that perhaps Hermione would be alright in the end after all. While she still worked herself to the bone and lacked a proper boyfriend, her friends saw her smiling more often and taking the time to live her life—even if that meant spending time with older gentlemen talking about "tacking" and "gybes" and whatnot. She seemed if not back to her old self then certainly making strides towards a new, healthy version of herself. And that was enough for them to stop their pestering and prying and just let her be.

Soon the red dot loomed once again on her wall calendar. But unlike in other years, Hermione wasn't dreading what would come after the red dot. This year she felt prepared for the familiar onslaught of emotions she now exclusively associated with Draco: a heady cocktail of guilt, shame, determination, optimism, and compassion. As the day approached another emotion began to creep in to her consciousness: nervousness.

What if nothing had changed between the two of them? What if everything had changed?

The night before his impending transfer, Hermione sat motionless in her large tweed armchair and lost herself to what ifs. When the sun finally started to peak into her cottage, she gathered her sleepless self and prepared for the day ahead.

On her way out she took one final look at the red dot on her calendar, for the day marking today, and smiled. The what ifs fading away and her nerves finally calming. No more waiting. No more limbo. Today was the day.

Xx

Hermione, Harry, Padma, and a handful of other low-level Aurors stood in a semicircle in the enclosed portkey station at the British Ministry of Magic. Draco was due to arrive at any moment and the tension in the room was palpable.

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and kept her gaze trained forward. Harry looked relaxed but his quick glances to Hermione betrayed his cool-headedness. Padma was scribbling away on a clip board, trying to jot down her thoughts as fast as they popped into her head.

At any moment Draco would be in front of her. She allowed a small smile to play on her lips before hiding it away from Harry's curious looks. She wondered how different he would be and if Nico had been able to shield him from the worst of Desaparecido.

As if on cue, a rip in space appeared and following a flash of light three familiar faces stood in front of Hermione and the other Brits.

Sra. Jade Oliveira had not changed since the very first time Hermione had met the lithe Brazilian blonde. She immediately greeted Hermione and the others with a megawatt smile but Hermione did not miss the quick, calculating eyes that swept the room for exits and risks.

Dr. Nico Turolo on the other hand had aged considerably over the past three years. His once dark brown hair was now a more appropriate salt and pepper for his title and Hermione could see the indentations of worry lines crisscrossing his forehead. While the man was still objectively handsome, Hermione was immediately on edge recalling her last interaction with the devilishly serpentine wizard.

When her eyes finally found Draco she was taken aback by both his familiarity and strangeness. He stood to the left of Sra. Oliveira while Nico stood to her right. He was purposefully placed slightly in front of the other two as if the positioning wouldn't allow for any hasty escape should he attempt one. His gaze was downcast and long, dark blond hair draped over his shoulders and obscured his face. Hermione guessed he had only had a handful of haircuts—if any—over the course of the three years and the dreading of his hair led her to believe the personal hygiene concerns of Desaparecido were at an all-time low. Still, even hunched over and attempting to look as small and unimposing as possible, it was impossible to miss the additional muscle Draco had packed onto his once lean frame. His shoulders seemed broader and Hermione felt a tightening in her chest when she noticed the cuffs of his t-shirt straining against his biceps.

Her eyes continued to travel downward where she saw a familiar but greatly faded tattoo on his left forearm and a new collection of tattoos on his right forearm. She squinted to get a closer look but was unable to make out the design of the new ink. His clothes were modest and while the slightly damp t-shirt clung to his upper body, loose linen pants fell dangerously low on his hips and pooled around bare, dirty feet.

Hermione felt the familiar emotions of guilt and shame surge to the surface as she took in the transformed and beaten body of Draco Malfoy. But even while she pitied him she lusted for him. The same hungry desperation she had felt during their one night of passion on _Onward _rose quickly from her belly as her heart, mind, and body realized he was now within arm's reach—she could go to him now, touch him, speak to him, kiss him. Nothing was stopping her anymore! He was here. In the flesh. All she needed to do was reach out to him.

"Apologies for the delay but the cafés came later than expected!" The cool, feminine voice of Sra. Oliveira broke through Hermione's trance. "I assume you have the necessary paperwork for us? I do not wish to hasten our reunion but I have a second case I must return to."

"Certainly. If you'd care to follow me Sra. Oliveira, I can sort out the paperwork with you in my office," Harry gestured towards the door but never took his eyes off Draco. The entire room save Sra. Oliveira was waiting for Draco to move or speak. But nothing happened.

"Nico it's so good to see you again. I'll help you get acquainted with your lab set up while the Aurors get Mr. Malfoy settled in," chirped Padma from Hermione's left. The Aurors in the room began to move towards a stilled Draco while the other four filed out of the room to their respective locations. Hermione, suddenly feeling hyper conscious of the fact that she was still standing motionless and staring at Draco, cleared her throat. Draco's hands fisted in reply.

"Um yes…Mr. Malfoy, I'll escort you and the Aurors to the appropriate holding room." Hermione cringed at her awkward formality but still carried concern that the Brazilians would somehow sabotage their plan if they knew she and Draco shared more than just a professional and crime-riddled past. When Draco made no move to join her or the other Aurors, Hermione took a step towards him and tentatively reached out to touch his arm. When her fingers barely grazed the taught skin of his right forearm, he jerked back suddenly and snapped his head up so that cold gray eyes met hers.

She was momentarily stunned. His eyes were exactly the same: assessing, doubting, gloating. If there were ever any doubt in her mind as to whether this was Draco Malfoy, one look confirmed the wizard's identity. But the rest of his face had also changed—his features seemed sharper and his eyes seemed to sink back, creating the appearance of a deep sadness or loneliness. There were a few scars around his neck—from what Hermione did not want to know. But his eyes, locked now with hers, were the same eyes she had spent countless days and nights dreaming about. Now that she had them in front of her she was unsure how to proceed, how he would respond. She looked at him quizzically as if he were in charge of the situation but when he gave no verbal acknowledgement she simply stood there staring.

Did he recognize her? It had only been three years but Hermione imagined she must look different from the last time he saw her. She was certainly less tan as a result of working long hours at the Ministry but all her work from sailing and fixing her boat had given her a much leaner appearance than before. She had also cut her hair and was attempting to dress more her age and less like a seventh year student. Maybe he couldn't tell it was her through all of those little changes? She attempted to reach out again but pulled back when she saw his eyes widen in concern.

"Draco, it's me," she whispered to him. He continued to stare into her deep brown eyes with an expression that she couldn't read. It occurred to her that perhaps he doubted whether or not it was really her again. That perhaps he thought this was all another trick of the Brazilians to taint his memories. She smiled softly and said, "if you don't get moving I'll have to give you another broken nose just like in third year."

It lasted only a millisecond but she saw the flash of recognition pass over him. He blinked several times and then sucked in a deep breath. His cool gaze slipped from her own and worked its way down over her body. She felt him examine each inch of her body and she became acutely aware of her own breathing and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She caught his attention linger there and a new surge of lust and nervousness flooded her senses. Thank goodness he wasn't looking at her face anymore because she could feel the rush of blood heating her cheeks. He continued his journey down her smart silk blouse and over her hips as they fit into a tight pencil skirt. She shifted her weight subtlety and immediately noticed the way his chest puffed out ever so slightly. If she weren't mistaken she'd say she was having a similar effect on his emotions. The thought made her blush harder.

When he was done shamelessly raking her body, he brought his gaze back up to hers.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said a bit louder for the benefit of the other Aurors in the room, "please follow me so we can get you settled into your holding room." She turned on her heel, afraid that if she didn't start moving she'd die looking into his eyes. As she walked briskly towards the door she heard his raspy voice call out from behind her.

"You mean my new prison." She stopped, hearing the poison dripping from those words, and turned around to face him again. While he was still standing in the same position as before, his entire demeanor had changed. Hermione was briefly reminded of the way wolves look when something has encroached on their territory: fangs bared, low growls, bodies tense and ready to strike out at the perceived threat. Her mouth dried and she struggled to respond and to understand his sudden change.

This was not the same Draco from _Onward_. This wasn't even the same Draco from their years at Hogwarts when he had taken pleasure in her misery. No, this Draco was someone else.

Someone infinitely more dangerous.

Someone lashing out because of their pain. Pain that she had had a hand in causing.

This was a Draco Malfoy that truly hated her.


	13. Part II: Chapter 12

A/N: Hope you all enjoy and thank you so much for all your lovely reviews and the tremendous support. Not too many chapters left! Next update will be next week so stay tuned :D  
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters do not belong to me.

**Part 2: England**

_Chapter 12_

Hermione stared as Draco walked past her, Aurors in tow, with an arrogance that frankly stunned her. He didn't say a word as she rushed to catch up with him and the others, turning left then left again and then finally right and down the seemingly never ending corridor of the Department of Mysteries. The Aurors pushed open a heavy wooden door leading to the main lab that had played host to the Investigation into Magical Purging for years now but watching him walk over its threshold cast the cold, clinical lab in a new light.

She watched as his back tensed and his head moved side to side to take in the view of his new prison, as he called it. What was once a beacon of progress to her in solving the riddle of magical purging now seemed increasingly small and confined: a space to keep ideas, contagions, and—ultimately—Draco locked inside. She watched as he was shown to a side door connecting the lab with his living quarters. It was modest to say the least but she had tried to make it homier with a few book shelves, a simple rug, and an extra pillow or two. But now, as she watched him circle his small space like a caged animal, her earlier additions felt ridiculous. A few extra items wouldn't change the fact that he would be confined to this room nearly every day until the Department learned what it needed from his genetics. And then it would be Azkaban next. And then after that, Hermione could only imagine he'd never want to see her again. She chewed the inside of her cheek, anxiety over the future manifested.

"There's a washroom just beyond that door over there and a closet on the other side of the room," she whispered into the dreariness of the room.

"Why would I need a closet," he responded, his back still facing her.

"Padma arranged for some different clothing. In case you wanted to, um, change out of those," she blushed, thinking again how stupidly inconsiderate this small gesture seemed. It hadn't been Padma who had arranged for new clothes but she was too embarrassed to admit to her lackluster attempt at welcoming him home to England.

"Right. Wouldn't want to soil these rags with any of the blood you'll be siphoning off me." Again the bite to his voice. She was prepared to say something in response—an apology, maybe—but caught her words when he suddenly lifted the t-shirt over his shoulders and threw it to the ground in frustration.

Hermione was shocked into silence. His back, though sculpted into hard planes that hadn't existed so prominently before, was marred with scars and fresh, angry wounds. She closed her eyes, willing the markings and the feeling of complete uselessness away. He had suffered. He had suffered because of her and she had continued her life of comfort while he suffered.

When she opened her eyes again she saw that he had moved to the closet and was riffling through the hangers before grabbing a plain white t-shirt and marching off towards the bathroom. He slammed the door and soon she heard the telltale sound of a shower head running. Taking a deep breath and still shuddering at what she had seen, Hermione spun on her heel and walked out of his room and into the lab.

Nico was standing there, hands full of manila folders which no doubt held the reports she and Padma's team had compiled to summarize their findings to date. With his head cocked ever so slightly to the right, he took in her emotional state not bothering to grant her a moment of privacy after such an abysmal reunion. She huffed at him and made to walk by towards the exit when she felt a warm hand wrap around her arm. She looked up at his deep brown eyes and saw a concerned and questioning look.

"He is not the same man you knew in Brazil, Ms. Granger. Do not make the mistake of treating him as such." A warning.

"What I do is none of your concern Dr. Turolo," she hissed in response. The last thing she needed was a man she barely knew telling her what she should or shouldn't do. Certainly not when her guilt and frustration were threatening to spill over into hot tears.

His eyes widened and then softened with what Hermione imagined was understanding. He could sense her pain, and her confusion, and her rage.

"But he can be brought back. He needs us—you—more than ever now. Do not give up on him." His voice softened and for a moment Hermione thought she recognized a kindred spirit and she felt herself relax a hair under his grasp. He released her and looked down at the folders in his other hand. "It looks as though you and Padma have been busy these three years. We should debrief first thing in the morning and catch each other up."

"Agreed. Goodnight Dr. Turolo." She was determined to leave the lab before the waterworks started.

"Ms. Granger?" She stopped at the door, one foot already in the corridor, but did not look back at the Brazilian. "Do you know where I could find some shears? The man is in desperate need of a trim." She almost smiled but instead pointed towards the supply closet on the far side of the lab before leaving for the night.

As she walked the familiar hallways of the Ministry, she felt her body slowly relax. He was back in London where she could see him. He hated her but at least he was home. She frowned at that realization and pushed back the guilt that was bubbling up again. She had spent the past three years waiting for him to come home and there was a small part of her that had hoped—maybe even naively expected—he would be relieved to see her again. But Hermione Granger was anything if not a practical witch and she had prepared herself for the likelihood that he would feel quite the opposite of relieved when he returned to this island. So tonight she would cry and give herself that time to erase the dream of a romantic reunion. Tomorrow she would be ready to tear down whatever walls he had built to protect himself from Desaparecido and get to the cure she knew lay hidden deep within Draco's genetics.

The sooner we get to this cure, Hermione reassured herself, the sooner I can find a way to make him forgive me for what I've done.

Xx

"Walk me through the results you anticipate again, I'm not sure my coffee has kicked in yet," mumbled Padma as she walked down the row of desks in the shared office space dedicated to her investigative team. Hermione flanked her and was skimming through a report she had been meaning to finish the other day on missing cargo ships in the Sea of Okhotsk (Shacklebolt was concerned rusalka were being illegally used by the Russian Ministry to co-op the British ships delivery various magical ingredients to Japan) and only just caught the exasperation in Nico's sigh.

"I'm beginning to think you didn't even read my report Padma. As I mentioned on page forty six," he flipped through a thickly bound stack of papers and began to recite from a highlighted section, "'subject responds well to Jungian therapy techniques and conversations Six B, Eight, and Eleven C demonstrate a noticeable uptick in emotional confrontation and foundational memory retrieval when such techniques are applied.' All that is to say that a two pronged approach of genetic and magical testing will not suffice if we hope to root out the cause of what initiated this magical purging. We must include some type of talk therapy if we're hoping to uncover the context in which this ability was activated."

"Are you having him keep a dream journal?" Padma asked as she sat on the corner of her usual desk. Hermione took a seat in her favorite, beat-up leather armchair chewing the information Nico had just shared.

"No but that's not a horrible idea you know. If you had read my report—"

"I did!"

"—then you will recall that this purging only began to manifest when Mr. Malfoy was first arrested."

"So there's your context," piped up Hermione. "What more do you need to know about the cause of his release?" Nico's eyes flashed with giddiness and Hermione swore he lost fifteen years in a matter of milliseconds.

"But aren't you curious as to why his arrest caused his first purge? Especially given that all other purges—save for the one that nearly killed Ms. Granger here—are done _deliberately_ by the subject. What made this one and the one on the dock different from the others? There are emotions underlying these contexts and given the experiences of the deceased prior to their own unsustainable purges I should think it clear there must be something beyond the genetic that can trigger a purge."

"Well surely based on conversations Six B, Eight, and Eleven C you must have some hypothesis as to what these triggering emotions may be," probed Padma.

"I have a hypothesis, yes. I have not be able to test it for obvious reasons. But I believe the accidental purge—shall we call it—could be triggered by extreme forms of distress and feelings of helplessness."

"You believe Draco felt _helpless_ when he saw me on the dock?" Nico turned to Hermione and gave her a small, sad smile.

"I believe he was a man confronting the very real possibility that his life may be over were you to recognize him." Hermione flashed back to their many arguments over whether or not he should kill her before she had the chance to report back to the Ministry. She recalled begging him to spare her life and trusting, somehow, that a man who had gone through the trouble of saving her life one moment wasn't going to end it so flippantly the next. But if what Nico was saying was true, Draco's decision to spare her meant more than just finding a practical and mutually beneficial solution to the two of them finding each other on a random island—it meant he had sacrificed his own survival, whether real or perceived, for her own. Hermione began to chew the inside of her cheek, feeling a bit dizzy at what this all meant about their relationship.

"So you'd like to test this how?" asked Padma. Nico smiled wide now.

"Have either of you heard of electroencephalography?"

"You want to map his brain activity?" Hermione sat up straighter, pulled out of her wandering thoughts and back into the conversation.

"Ah ha, I knew the Muggleborn would understand!" Both Hermione and Padma cringed. Neither were accustomed to anyone assuming Hermione's intelligence came from her heritage. "And yes, that is precisely what I'm saying. The more we uncover about Mr. Malfoy's past and his emotional states leading up to, during, and following his purgings, the more direction we'll have in identifying and then testing possible triggers."

"And with genetic and magical testing, we may be able to pinpoint what it is he's activating—both in terms of the act of purging and the ability to recover from it." Padma's face lit up at the research plan taking shape.

"Exactly. But we have a bit of a problem," confessed Nico. "Mr. Malfoy is rather…adept at hiding his emotions. He is rarely expressive and I've had great difficulty extracting any emotional reflection. I'd like to say we've grown closer over the past three years but circumstances prevented any real trust from forming. And I will be the first to admit that I am far from being a trained professional in Jungian therapy. We need to bring in a professional."

"It will be difficult to find one on such short notice but I can put in the request today." Padma scribbled down a note to herself, oblivious to the sidelong gaze Nico cast down at Hermione who was staring off into space, wrestling with the possible moral implications of inducing a feeling of helplessness to map Draco's brain activity.

"Fantástico. In the mean time I would like Ms. Granger to join me for my sessions with Mr. Malfoy."

"Excuse me?" Hermione did her best to hide her genuine surprise. Padma, on the other hand, nodded.

"Yes, agreed. Their connection may, at the very least, elicit some sort of emotional response or even a lost memory."

"Excuse me?" Hermione was beginning to feel like a test subject herself now.

"Ms. Granger, please. The history between you two may be the extra push I need to get him to open up. Not to mention your shared experience in Brazil created a bond between you two—and it may help him feel more at ease to have someone in the room he feels close to. At least until we can bring in a professional to oversee the therapy sessions."

"But he hates me," she found herself whining. "I may set you back even further than where you are now with your relationship. You're making an awfully large assumption based only on the fact that we shared a boat for two and half weeks three years ago."

"Ms. Granger," Nico looked nervously over at Padma and then back at Hermione, "there's something you should see." Hermione, stunned at the sudden shift, stood and watched while Nico shuffled through his various papers. She saw the two researchers exchange a glance and silent understanding when he reached his desired page. Nico reached out to Hermione, giving her a full view of a grainy but moving black and white photo.

At first she thought she was looking at micro imaging but as the photo moved and a set of fingers entered the frame, she realized she was looking at the extended forearm of a man. More specifically she was looking at Draco's right forearm. The indecipherable tattoo she had glimpsed last night now lie on display before her. It was a series of words, increasingly etched haphazardly into his skin—as if each were more hastily added than the one above. Hermione squinted at the words:

HUMMING

TOBACCO

SEEKER

YULEBALL

ONWARD

LACE

SACRIFICE

Her breath hitched. She looked back up at Nico and Padma, feeling the blush spreading from her chest, up her neck, and settling on her cheeks. She turned around swiftly, embarrassed by her body's betrayal and willed her emotions away. Taking a few deep breaths she looked back down to the photo in her hands. Her heart began beating rapidly against her chest and she felt her legs and shoulders tense as if the temperature had just dropped several degrees.

"I need to talk to him." She turned to face Nico and Padma. "I need to talk to him _alone_."

Xx

When Hermione stormed into Draco's room she was already anticipating the vitriol he would undoubtedly throw her way. What she wasn't anticipating was a very drowsy looking man, clean shaven and showered, violently awoken by her explosive entrance into his room.

"What the bloody hell?—"

"Show it to me Malfoy!" She slammed his door and cast a quick _muffliato_ charm. Her arms akimbo, brow furrowed, and subtle scowl of superiority painted her the striking image of the know-it-all swot Draco had so loathed in his youth.

"Merlin, have you gone mad?" He rubbed at the sleep in his eyes and looked up at her incredulously.

"Show it to me!" She reached for his right forearm, determined to see the tattoo for herself. His athletic reflexes kicked in and he yanked his arm beyond her reach, standing from his bed as he did so. She took a step back, overwhelmed by the space he occupied. He was naked, save for a pair of thin white trunks and he was looming over her a good head or two taller. She pressed her heels into the ground and held her position. "Show it to me or so help me Malfoy I will hex you beyond recognition," she growled.

He had the audacity to chuckle.

At her!

She pouted and opened her mouth to yell at his insolence.

"Bloody hell you'd think I'd tattooed your naked body to my arm the way you're going on!" He sidestepped around her and made his way over to the closet to retrieve a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. She watched him contort his body into the clothing and grew even more frustrated when she felt her belly clench.

"You may as well have! 'Lace'? Could you be any more conspicuous you arrogant prat?" She marched over to him and felt tempted to raise her wand and allow the hexing to begin.

"Oh come off it already. I don't think the Extractors were much too interested in your knickers to stop for a spot of gossip."

"That's beside the point!"

"Is it? What are you really angry about Granger? That I wasn't kissing your feet last night, thanking you for saving my poor, damaged soul?" He sneered at her.

"No! No, I just _can't_—I can't _believe _you would—"

"You can't believe what, Granger? That I'd want to be reminded every so often a bloody good fuck while I was wasting away in that hell hole?"

She slapped him.

He barely flinched.

"You are a foul, loathsome ferret Draco Malfoy."

His gray eyes bore into her enraged brown eyes. Her fingers twitched, begging her to reach for her wand and wreak the havoc she desired. She felt ashamed and her burning cheeks reminded her of the knowing looks Nico and Padma had shared before showing her the photo. She wanted to punch him for being such a boy and for degrading her and destroying her memories of their last night aboard _Onward_. For three years she had clung to a false, childish delusion that what had transpired between the two of them had meant something. And as crazy as it sounded, she had taken solace in the fact that she couldn't have acted alone—that he must have felt something as well. But now, confronted with the harsh reality that she was nothing more than a "good fuck", she was furious.

"Get out." She turned and marched towards the door, all too happy to grant him this request but hesitated when she reached for the handle.

"I expected hatred, not a thank you," she rasped, her voice raw from yelling. She turned back to face him across the room. A low, sarcastic laugh escaped his lips.

"Brightest witch of our age ladies and gentlemen."

"Go ahead and hate me then. I don't regret what I did and I would do it again a hundred times over. People are _dying_ Malfoy."

"People die every day, everywhere Granger. You didn't do this for them. You did this because you felt dirty when your world found out about our little holiday." He took a step towards her, goaded by her confused and hurt expression. "You did this because the second you were home, you knew the rumors would begin and that they would all look at you differently." He paused, assessing the emotional damage he was inflicting. He smiled cruelly at her. "That's right, isn't it? You knew they would start asking you what the perfect little war heroine was doing shaking up with the traitorous, cowardly Malfoy on a boat for two weeks. You knew they would talk. You knew a story like that wouldn't stay hidden. You needed me back here so that you could claim it was all to save the poor purebloods. Don't try to play saintly with me, _Hermione_. You're just a fraud and you couldn't stand being found out to be something less than perfect." He turned away from her, as if dismissing her from his presence. She had half a mind to walk out but she was too stubborn to ever make it that easy.

"You think you know me so well? You think I care what people say about me? About my so called reputation? I don't care if they thought we had a bloody _love child_ Malfoy, all I cared about—all I worked for, for three years—was finding some connection between you and this insufferable magical purging! And no, _Draco_, it wasn't because I was covering my ass and salvaging my precious reputation, it was because you saved my life and I couldn't live with the thought of letting you rot away in Brazil. Not when you could be so much more than a criminal. Not a runaway, not a traitor, but someone who contributes. Someone who can help find a cure for a malady that is killing your friends and your family. Because if I can't save your life, I will at least save your legacy."

"I never wanted you to save me," he hissed.

"And I don't give a dragon's tit what you want. You're better than this. You're not the hardened criminal you want everyone to believe you are. So grow up. Help us find this cure."

"Help you? You mean submit to you, don't you? Don't try to pretend I'm a colleague now: I'm a lab rat. I have no rights. I have no say in whether I want to participate in this study and I probably can't even leave this room without your bloody permission. You took those rights away from me when you weaseled your way into my sentencing!"

"So you'd rather rot away in Desaparecido? Waiting for them to wrench out each and every memory you've ever had until you're just a shell of a human? Is that what you want Draco?"

"At least it would have been _my_ choice!"

"Are you mad? You've been given an opportunity to redeem yourself!"

"If I'm mad then you're blind. You think they're going to treat me with any respect? You think that everyone is going to see me like you do? That they're going to treat me like a human and not some _specimen_ or _subject_ in this study?" Hermione flinched, recalling the way Nico had referred to Draco one too many times over the years. She stared up at him, her anger beginning to cool as she saw the panic and desperation behind his rage. An internal war bubbled up inside her and suddenly the beliefs she had held onto for so long started to crack and she began to question the consequences of her good intentions.

"But I wouldn't let them. Draco I would never—"

"You can't save everyone Hermione. I didn't need you to save me." And then, in a whisper barely discernable to Hermione, "It was my sacrifice and you stole it from me."

"So then what am I supposed to do here?" A fat tear rolled down her cheek and she rubbed it away angrily. "Am I just supposed to ask them to send you back?" He reached for her, hesitated, and then pulled away again.

"What's done is done." Her tears started to come more freely, ignoring her silent pleas for control.

"I can't apologize for bringing you back. I won't."

"Just leave, Granger. Please." She hiccupped. So much still felt unsaid but she didn't know where to begin. She had been so furious moments ago and now she was a blubbering mess of sobs, confused by the many twists and turns this conversation had taken. He looked no better off: the dark circles under his eyes and the weariness in his gaze hinted at a fitful night's sleep and the way he looked at her—as if there were something on the tip of his tongue he had to get out—kept her glued to her position despite his request.

She had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts, her own version of the truth and the right way forward for so long that she hadn't imagined there was any other version. Suddenly, she had to grapple with the very real possibility that she _had_ acted on behalf of her reputation and that she _had_ played an active role in stripping him of the freedoms he had once cherished. At the very least she had to acknowledge that that was the truth he was telling himself.

With one final look at Draco, Hermione left the room and the lab. She had every intention of checking-in with Padma and Nico, of returning to her day job and her office, but her feet carried her to the familiar fireplaces and soon she was sitting in her cottage, lost in her thoughts. It was clear to her that Draco's hatred and her presence would taint any studies the Investigation pursued. She would remove herself at once from the team—no doubt to Shacklebolt's delight—and simply oversee that Padma and the other researchers were conducting an ethical study and that Draco was treated as much like the citizen that he rightful was. Despite the circumstance, this study was important and she wouldn't detract from its significance.

It was with that resolve that Hermione fished out a scroll of parchment and began writing to the necessary players. She would work the rest of the day from the calm and quiet of her seaside cottage and try to put aside her emotions to deal with once her work was complete.

Focus on the bigger picture, she reminded herself.

And with that she got to work.


	14. Part II: Chapter 13

A/N: Loved writing this one. Enjoy! And thank you to everyone who had favorited, followed, and reviewed this story. It's incredibly motivating and keeps me going week after week so a huge thank you.  
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters do not belong to me. The quote in this chapter comes from Ernest Hemingway's novel, "The Old Man and the Sea", which also does not belong to me.

**Part 2: England**

Chapter 13

Ten days later Hermione finally went back to the lab. Her ego would call it stubbornness but in truth she was a coward; her row with Draco still felt fresh and the thought of confronting his cold, accusatory eyes sent her looking for busy work from Shacklebolt. But even after ten long days, Hermione couldn't bring herself to move on and forget the man wallowing in the prison she had apparently constructed herself (never mind that _he_ was the one who had the Dark Mark on his forearm). So as she made her way down to the Department of Mysteries during her lunch break she reassured herself that her visit was purely professional—that she wasn't making time to gauge his mood or find flaws in his logic so that her own carefully constructed understanding of the situation held under the weight of his scrutiny. No she was visiting only to observe the conditions of his treatment and see to it that he felt respected.

And _not_ like a lab rat as he had so crudely suggested.

She joined Padma—who at once was thrilled to see her long-lost associate and began prattling off a list of topics she hoped to discuss with her at length later that day—for Draco's afternoon medical examination. After politely reminding Padma that she was no longer involved in the study ("I'll believe that when I don't see you reading Muggle white papers on genetic mutations in the cafeteria," snorted Padma in response) the two witches made their way into the observatory room where several other researchers waited with quills and rolls of parchment in hand.

The room was dark save for a glowing orb that hovered overhead, following the nexus of the group so that light reached all. Its soft glow created a sense of coziness that contrasted sharply with the pristine medical lab on display through the charmed window. Hermione noted the number of Muggle medical devices that Padma and Nico must have outfitted the lab since the last time she was there as well as the pensieve and a cart full of small, multicolored vials.

The door leading into the medical lab from the main lab opened and Hermione felt her breath catch as she watched Draco enter the room with a medical researcher and two Aurors shuffling in behind. She immediately recognized Alan Brody from photos she had seen at Harry's flat. The tall brunette kept his eyes locked on Draco's every move and barely registered the foreign machinery in the room. The other Auror, a petite blonde must have been a new cadet from the most recent graduating class of trainees. Her forest green eyes traveled slowly between Draco, Brody, and the strange new room, a scowl permanently chipped into her round face.

Perhaps noticing her gaze on the young female Auror, Padma leaned over and whispered, "that's Annika Steyn, a new recruit from Uagadou. You'll be pleased to hear she was considered 'the brightest which of her age' upon graduation." Padma smirked back at Hermione who simply cocked an eyebrow. What was the brightest witch from Uagadou doing playing baby sitter for Draco Malfoy?

Hermione watched as the researcher encouraged Draco to have a seat on the medical table in the center of the room. It took her an inappropriate amount of effort to repress a snicker when Draco picked up the paper gown on the table and looked at it with distain and a comical bit of confusion. He tossed it to the ground and cautiously sat down on the metal table, Brody staying close to the door and Steyn hovering by the researcher's side.

He looked bored and otherwise unfazed. She noticed his white t-shirt was tucked into his grey sweatpants but that he remained barefoot despite the cold lab floor. He sat with his back perfectly straight and his large, calloused hands resting in his lap, his eyes trained on the researcher who fiddled with his parchment papers near a corner desk. The marks on his neck that had drawn her attention the first day he had arrived back in London were now faded and she could only just barely make out the tops of his jagged scars peeking out from the collar of his shirt. By all accounts it looked as though Draco was a normal wizard, visiting the Ministry for routine lab testing. Apart from a tapping foot which seemed like a new habit since their time on _Onward _together, Draco was perfectly—perhaps, unnaturally—still. Hermione inwardly sighed, pleased to see that things were not as dire as Draco had claimed or that she had allowed her imagination to spin during her time away from the lab.

Then all hell broke loose.

It happened the moment the researcher turned to face Draco holding a rather large syringe and several empty vials. Hermione barely saw Draco react—he was devilishly quick—but he was suddenly standing at full height and brandishing one of the many small medical devices in his hand as a weapon. Padma and the other researchers in the small observation room rushed to the window along with Hermione to get a better view of the unfolding conflict.

"I'm warning you," hissed Draco to the meek researcher.

"Mr. Malfoy please sit down! I've already explained to you that the—"

"Lies!" Draco threw the device at the researcher. Brody quickly levitated it out of the way and placed it safely back on the side table where it belonged. He looked very annoyed to have to intervene in such an elementary fashion.

"Mr. Malfoy this will only take a mo—"

"You can't do this! I am a _Malfoy_. I have _rights_. I demand—"Draco was yelling now, reaching for another device to hurl at the researcher. Hermione fisted her hands and cringed at the sight of Draco showing uncharacteristic signs of aggression. What was wrong with him? Surely he had seen a syringe before and knew it wasn't going to be used to harm him? Why was he—Hermione's train of thought was cut short by the sharp gesticulations of Annika Steyn and surprising low hiss that tumbled from her lips:

"_Imperio_."

A hush fell over the room. Draco calmly sat back onto the medical table and stared almost fondly back at Steyn as she followed the researcher, his arm happily extended. The syringe entered into Draco's forearm with ease and soon several vials of his blood were collected and placed delicately on the side table. All the while Draco stared, as if in a trance, at the young Auror who simply grinned in return. Hermione was dumbfounded.

She reached into her robe for her wand and with every intention of stopping the impetuous Auror, turned towards the door leading into the lab. She felt Padma's hand close around her arm and halt her mission, hushed words coming quickly.

"Hermione consider what you are about to do. She is an _Auror_. He is a _criminal_. Your livelihood and reputation are not worth hexing a witch who is only attempting to restrain the subject and prevent any more violence from erupting." Hermione had never seen Padma exercise such calm, logical reasoning in the face of an unquestionable atrocity. She shivered under the witch's harsh reprimand.

"She is illegally using an Unforgivable on a defenseless _man_, Padma," hissed Hermione in response. She yanked her arm away and marched towards the door, stopping only when she heard Padma's voice return to her usual tone.

"Please Hermione, wait! Please don't make me do something I will have to regret," her tone was friendly but the warning was clear: back down or face repercussions.

Hermione had always had a strong sense of right and wrong. She had taken great pride when the Sorting Hat had struggled to place her in any of the four houses, citing this sense as evidence of bravery, justice, intelligence, and ambition. And in the ten seconds that had passed since the Imperius Curse was uttered and Padma had threatened her, Hermione had come to several staggering realizations:

The first, Draco Malfoy was right. He was not a willing or even respected participant in this groundbreaking medical research. He was a lab rat.

The second, her colleagues were complicit. They either chose to ignore or actively disagreed with the notion that even as a criminal, Draco was still a member of wizarding Britain and subject to its protections.

The third, she had laid the groundwork for this very moment. Whether following good intentions or otherwise, Hermione had had a direct hand in stripping Draco of his freedoms and allowing an institution and its members to behave unethically. All for the greater good. An aspiration that stained their history books more than once.

Aware of her audience (and her odds of success were wands to be drawn), Hermione calmly placed her wand back into her robe and gave Padma a curt nod of acknowledgement. Then, as Padma and the other researchers diverted their attention back to the medical lab where Draco was undergoing a less invasive examination of his overall health, Hermione quietly slipped out of the room and made her way up to a familiar office in hopes of appealing to the Minister's own sense of justice.

Xx

Hermione was furious. To the casual observer she appeared a bit stressed as she marched back into her office and closed the door with a flick of her wand—but quietly she was fuming. Shacklebolt had been utterly useless, dancing around her concerns with his political cunning and avoiding any explicit promises that such treatment of Draco would be noted and dealt with accordingly. His evasiveness had left a sour taste in her mouth and in the brisk walk from his office to her own that taste had morphed into a bitterness and disgust that had her reaching for a tall glass of water once she was safely behind closed doors.

Rather than sit in her familiar, comfortable leather office chair, she paced the dingy brown carpet of her office chewing on the inside of her cheek. As she drained her water glass her anger boiled over into a slow simmer and soon gave way to a greater feeling of concern and dread.

Why hadn't Brody or even the researcher reacted to Steyn's use of an Unforgivable? Why hadn't Padma shared Hermione's reaction? Why was Shacklebolt brushing off this grievous offense as if one of his employees had only made a clerical error and not an international breach of wizarding law?

Hermione stilled. The answer slowly slithering into her consciousness causing her stomach to sway at the implications: this wasn't a rare occurrence. As much as she hated to admit the obvious it was just that—obvious. The lack of and underwhelming reaction to seeing and hearing about the use of the Imperius Curse could only mean that this had happened before. And that at some point it had become normal.

Research.

Hermione reached for her quill and several pieces of parchment sending out requests to various departments for archives, time sheets, and recordings all relating to Auror interactions with known and suspected criminals. As memos flew in and out of her office redirecting and questioning her efforts, the pit in Hermione's stomach grew. Red tape and bureaucracy were never beacons of a virtuous system.

But still she soldiered on. She would stay here all night if required. She would find her answers. Or, at the very least, she would find the thread that could unravel it all.

Xx

"Did you know?"

Harry looked up at bedraggled Hermione and smartly set down his English Breakfast and copy of the _The Guardian_. He began most weekdays at the small Muggle coffee shop a few blocks from the Ministry always with a pot of freshly brewed tea and a copy of the Muggle newspaper. It was his quiet moment to check back in on the affairs of Muggles and look for the inconsistencies that often suggested magical interference. It was a routine he had learned from Mad Eye and one he stuck to out of effectiveness and remembrance. Hermione was well aware of this routine and occasionally joined him—the two of them, after all, shared an appreciation for Muggle coffee shops and even temporary breaks from wizarding London. But her interruption this morning was entirely unexpected.

"Did I know what?"

She took a seat opposite him and leaned over the table, conspiratorially. He raised an eyebrow and pushed his newspaper further to the side recognizing the new shift in his morning.

"That Aurors have been abusing known and suspected criminals since the War."

"What? What does that even mean?" She rolled her eyes at him and riffled through her messenger bag withdrawing a large folder stuffed with various files, each color-coded by some system oblivious to Harry.

"What that _means_, Harry, is that the Ministry has allowed its law enforcement to follow their own set of laws. It means our colleagues at the DMLE and even at Azkaban are using Unforgivables and likely a whole host of other spells, curses, and interrogation techniques that grossly overstep international wizarding laws. It's _criminal_, Harry."

Harry took a beat to look into Hermione's hard stare. He reached for his cup of tea and took a long sip, considering what she was tell him. All the while Hermione's gaze burned a hole through him.

"Hermione," he whispered, scanning the small coffee shop discretely, "I don't have to remind you that we're only a stone's throw from the Ministry." She blinked and scanned the coffee shop for herself, catching his meaning.

Straightening her back she slowly pushed the file towards him and then stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder and brushing her loose mane over her shoulder.

"Read the files, Harry. Owl me when you understand my concern." She gave him a curt nod and then made her way out of the shop, towards the Ministry. Harry reached for her folder and for a second time scanned the room. He slipped the folder into his own bag and quickly muttered a disillusionment charm so that it blended in seamlessly with the other contents. Knocking back his last bit of tea he made his way to the office.

Xx

Hermione arrived at the Department of Mysteries early on a Sunday morning, confident the lab would be deserted. Even the researchers who normally wasted away their lives trapped under the weight of the Ministry would still be at home, holding on desperately to sleep and the weekend. She was confident she would have some time alone with Draco. Time she had been dreading but knew they needed.

As she strode into the lab her eyes immediately caught the bored and questioning gaze of Auror Brody. Not missing a beat she walked over to his towering frame blocking the door into Draco's quarters, adjusting her plan on the fly.

"Ms. Granger?" She had to remind herself that Brody was unaware of her status as an undercover Auror. So rather than fall into her usual comfort interacting with her colleagues, she feigned shock and curiosity.

"Auror Brody, is it? Good morning." She smiled up at him and self-consciously pulled at her informal jumper. "I didn't think anyone else would be in this early! I apologize for my informality." Catching her movements he gave her a small smile.

"No need for apologies Ms. Granger. A weekend guard shift was only recently implemented." She pocketed that information away and answered his small smile with her own.

"Ah, right. Well that makes perfect sense. Given everything…"

"He's been a tricky one to handle, that's for sure. But between me and Steyn I think we have the situation under control. There has yet to be another incident." Hermione suppressed a grimace and nodded in faux understanding instead.

"Yes, I heard. Just awful…"

"Nothing to worry about. Our um…_control_…over him only slipped up for a moment. My understanding is the Muggle contraption can be easily replaced."

"Yes, well, nevertheless I have come for that very reason. I need to speak to Mr. Malfoy." She gave him an exasperated look and shrugged. "Why it has to be on a Sunday morning is beyond me but I just follow orders." He looked at her questioningly.

"Orders?"

"Shacklebolt." She supplied, knowing it would be enough to pause his questions. He gave her a quick nod and moved to the side.

"Would you like me to accompany you?"

"Of course not," she replied automatically, failing to catch the distain in her voice. She paused and smiled back at him, "I apologize. It's just difficult for me to find a threat in Mr. Malfoy after having dealt with his Aunt Bellatrix so many times before the War." The color in his face drained, the reaction Hermione was hoping for.

"Of course. I meant no disrespect Ms. Granger. I'll be stationed out here if you need anything—not that you would! But I'll just—I'll be—"

"Thank you Auror Brody," she smiled sweetly at his sudden nervousness. She removed her wand as if to give him one last confirmation that she was indeed safe without him and then turned towards the door.

Once she was inside she cast a quick _muffliato_ and looked towards the bed. But it was empty and neatly made. She scanned his room, looking for a head of platinum hair but found instead an immaculately cleaned room. She stepped over to his desk on the opposite side of the room and took note of a couple books open, each with small scribbles in the margins. She recognized the books immediately, having been the original curator, and smiled. One was a brief history of nautical navigation and the other was one of the novels she had left for him: _The Old Man and the Sea_. She saw he had underlined one of her favorite parts:

_He always thought of the sea as 'la mar' which is what people call her in Spanish when they love her. Sometimes those who love her say bad things of her but they are always said as though she were a woman. Some of the younger fishermen, those who used buoys as floats for their lines and had motorboats, bought when the shark livers had brought much money, spoke of her as 'el mar' which is masculine. They spoke of her as a contestant or a place or even an enemy. But the old man always thought of her as feminine and as something that gave or withheld great favors, and if she did wild or wicked things it was because she could not help them. The moon affects her as it does a woman, he thought._

A creak sounded behind her and Hermione spun to face the noise. A freshly showered Draco stood in the doorway of the washroom, the same t-shirt and sweats clinging to his poorly dried body. His longer hair hung loosely around his chiseled face and fat droplets created scattered water marks on his shoulders and chest. He ruffled a white towel over his hair and then dropped the towel on the floor before walking over to Hermione and the desk. She waited with bated breath as he reached behind her for the dopp kit she had overlooked.

She could smell his soap and blushed furiously when she realized she was leaning into his scent. He pulled away, dopp kit in hand, and walked back into the washroom without so much as a word or breath of acknowledgement. She fisted her hands and tentatively followed him to the entrance of the steamy washroom, pausing in the doorway to watch him comb through his tangled locks. She couldn't help but frown when his slicked back hair transported her back to first year and simpler times. But just as the memory formed it disappeared with a quick shake of his head and his locks thrown back into disarray.

If she were honest with herself she was embarrassed to see him in such a vulnerable situation. She blushed again and turned away from the washroom, realizing her rude behavior. She walked back over to his desk and ran her fingers over the opened books, taking deep breaths and attempting to control her roiling emotions. His presence made her dizzy sometimes.

"You've been gone." She spun to face him and could only give him a small nod as he took in her appearance. He looked her up and down and she could have sworn the corners of his lips twitched when he saw she was wearing a forest green jumper. Feeling self-conscious, she sat on the edge of his desk and looked down at her swinging feet.

"I was afraid to come back," she said quietly. In her periphery she saw him move towards the end of the bed and sit, facing her.

The silence between them grew as Hermione struggled to remember the speech she had rehearsed over and over again in her mirror just the night before. She chewed the inside of her cheek and wished her brain didn't feel so foggy in his presence. The heady combination of guilt and shame mixed with arousal wasn't helping her remember why she had come to him this morning. As she worked through her thoughts she failed to see him stand and walk towards her. Before she knew what was happening, she felt two calloused fingers press upwards on her chin. She tore her gaze from the floor and was met with steely grey eyes. Where she expected to see anger and pain she saw only calm.

"I'm glad you came back," he said softly, moving his hand up her jaw line and pushing his fingers into her curls. She instinctively pushed into his palm, closing her eyes and appreciating the small gesture of connection. Tears she hadn't realized she was holding back slowly escaped. She sniffled a little and reached up to hold his hand to her cheek.

"Draco I'm so sorry. I…I was so st—"

"Hermione. Enough. We both said things we didn't mean." She blinked up at him and saw a different kind of pain in his eyes than she was expecting: pain felt by causing another pain. She drew in a deep breath and dropped her hands, wiping away her tears. He gave her a small smile and then turned away, walking over to his closet to retrieve a dark jumper. They lingered again in the silence.

"You were right," she said more confidently. He looked back at her and cocked an eyebrow as if to encourage her to continue. "I saw what they did the other day. The Imperious." She watched him noticeably stiffen. He turned back to her and sat on the bed before putting his face in his hands and shaking his head.

"I can tell you it's not the first time. Likely not the last either."

"They can't do that."

"Don't be naïve, Hermione." She heard the bite in his remark but recognize it wasn't directed to her. She nodded, as if she understood.

"I spoke with Shacklebolt. He's useless." He snorted, looking back up at her, sneering.

"Color me surprised."

"I had hoped it didn't go that far up. But I've been looking through records and it looks even worse than I suspected."

"Diving into old habits there?"

"Once a swot, always a swot," she replied sarcastically. They shared a small measure of comfort in their familiar banter but it faded quickly when Hermione recalled how helpless and desperate she had felt after combing through all the evidence of corruption. "I'm afraid there isn't much I can do now."

"I didn't expect you to be able to do much," she cringed, hurt by the sad truth in his voice.

"But…"she stammered, "_I_ did this. _I_ put you here. But _you're_ the one suffering? And I can't even find a way to…to—"She pounded her clenched fists into the desk and leapt to her feet, suddenly pacing frantically. "I was so blind, Draco! I was such a naïve fool! And it's my fault you're here and I can't do a damn thing to help you. I just hate this. I hate that you're here and that I made everything worse and I…I—"

His arms were around her before she could scream out more of her outrage. She buried her head into his jumper and clung to him as sobs racked her body. She was instantly reminded of the guilt and terror she had felt after the Brazilian Auror had found her lounging on his boat when they had docked for supplies. She had clung to him then as she did now: lost, terrified, and with an overwhelming feeling of guilt. Knowing that he would suffer ten times over for her own actions. Years had passed but she still felt like the same woman on that dock. The same helpless woman.

"Shhh, Hermione. Please." He kept his arms wrapped around her and rocked her slowly back and forth. In the silence she remembered the gentle sway of _Onward_ at night, how it lulled her to sleep despite the strain of the day. She squeezed her eyes tighter and wished with all her heart that they were back on _Onward_, that all this were a nightmare she could wake from if she just willed it hard enough. But when Draco pulled back and the rocking ceased, she knew she was not on Onward. She was in the basement of the Ministry. In the prison she had fashioned for the man who had once saved her life. She wiped her tears away with her jumper and let Draco lead her to the bed where they sat together—close but not touching. She drew in a steadying breath and faced him again.

"I will fix this." He smiled sadly at her.

"Okay."

"_I will_. I promise you Draco. I will fix this."

"I can't survive like this Hermione. I don't think I can—"

"Stop. You can. And you will. I will fix this but it will take some time. Please don't give up on me." She grabbed his right hand and squeezed. She needed the reassurance as much as he did and saying the words gave her a new sense of purpose she had been lacking. She had been drowning in guilt and shame and a sense of failure for so long and now, for the first time, she could see the surface. Destination, determination, deliberation. She had the first two, now she just needed the last.

He looked down at their entwined hands and then back up into her eyes.

"Did we do this?"

"Did we do what?" She asked, confused.

"Hold hands. Did we do this when we were together?" She noticed the pained expression in his eyes.

"No, I don't think we ever did. I can't remember to be honest," she replied quietly. He seemed relieved by her response and squeezed her hand again.

"I'm glad I didn't forget," he said softly.

"Draco," she asked after a moment of contemplation, "what _do_ you remember about our time together?"

He looked back into her eyes, pain and frustration evident in his stare. But it wasn't aimed at her. Her breath hitched at the realization. He looked close to tears but simply diverted his gaze and stared ahead at the concrete wall.

"Bits and pieces. Mostly feelings. The events are blurry." She squeezed his hand again, encouraging him to continue. "Sometimes I think I have dreams about it but I don't know if those are memories or just stories I've made up to compensate. I remember I almost killed you—with my magic, I mean. I remember feeling overwhelmed and guilty, maybe? It's mostly foggy. Some things I was able to hold onto—"she saw his gaze flicker down to his tattoo and then to the floor, as if he were ashamed.

She turned their hands over so that she could more clearly see his tattoo. She delicately traced over the seven words, whispering them into the thick silence.

"Humming, tobacco, seeker, Yuleball, Onward, lace, sacrifice. Draco, what are these?"

"I thought they would help me remember. It's childish, really. I thought that if they were a part of me—beyond just memories—they couldn't be taken away. But it was a fool's errand," he hissed bitterly, pulling his hand away from Hermione's and running it through his hair. "I can't even remember what half of these words allude to."

"Lace?" He stilled and turned back to her, letting his anger fall.

"They couldn't take that one away. Not entirely, at least. I don't know why but that held onto me stronger than some of the others." He smirked at her, "well, maybe I know why."

She rolled her eyes and playfully pushed his shoulder, feigning disgust at his crude innuendo. Truthfully she was glad and confused by his brain's refusal to give up that memory entirely. Though maybe it had nothing to do with his brain.

"I can't imagine what it must feel like to have parts of your life missing."

"Empty. Mostly. It feels empty. Like I know I filled up my glass with water but for some reason every time I look at it, there's less and less water. It's infuriating. And I can't help but think it'll just keep happening. Even though I know, logically, that I'm not still in Desaparecido."

"Did it hurt?" Hermione saw him wince at her question and immediately felt awful for asking. "I'm so sorry, Draco. Please ignore me and my impropriety," she quickly blurted out. He laughed a little and shook his head before looking back at her.

"It didn't hurt at all. Or, at least, I don't remember it hurting. That was the worst part," he looked down again. "I would wake up in my cell and I would _know_—I don't know how but I would just know they had taken something else away from me. I started adding more words when I realized the ones before suddenly didn't make sense anymore."

"Draco…"

"I don't need your pity, Hermione. What's done is done. I can't keep looking backwards. I did that for too long. Much too long." Hermione could sense he spoke not just about his time at Desaparecido, but perhaps at his time on the run. Maybe even before that, when they were just teenagers at Hogwarts.

"Neither can I," she found herself saying. He looked up at her and held her gaze for a moment, as if challenging her. But she kept his gaze and he must have seen something in her eyes because he broke away first and let out a deep sigh.

"So what now?"

"I'll find a way to fix this."

"You said that already but it doesn't sound like much of a plan." She snorted, cocking her eyebrow.

"Oh ye of little faith. I _will_ fix this," she said determined. "Just hold on a little longer, okay? I won't tell you to make it easier for them or to put up more of a fight. Just know that you're not the only one fighting, okay? I will fix this." He looked at her sadly but nodded his head. She nodded in response and rose from his bed, looking towards his door.

"I should go before Brody thinks you've incapacitated me." He laughed.

"I should think it would be the other way around."

"Yes, well, hero association or not I am constantly being underestimated here." She rolled her eyes and made her way towards the door.

"Let them," he called after to her. She turned and regarded him questioningly. "Let them underestimate you. They do that to me as well. It made it that much easier to stay one step ahead of them. At least, until I wasn't."

"I'll keep that in mind. Take care of yourself Draco. I'll do my best to do so as well." She placed her hand on the doorknob, prepared to twist and pull it open, but stopped. She couldn't explain it but everything in her body told her to stop. To turn around. To go to him. She took in a deep breath and chanced a glance over her shoulder.

His grey eyes locked onto hers. He was standing now, facing her and the door. She couldn't read his expression but she could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest; saw how he fisted his hands at his sides; was acutely aware of how close he was to her. It would only take a few steps. Maybe only a couple if he closed the gap. She turned back to the door and drew in a deep breath before turning the knob.

His hand was against the door before she could pull. For a brief moment all she saw were the fine lines of his hand, cut into smooth pale skin. Those lines held infinite stories—some, she was privy to, others she would never know. They curved around knuckles and joints, some more pronounced than others, some she was sure had become more prominent with age and activity. She turned towards his hand and watched as the lines morphed into small scars as her eyes passed over his forearms; and how those scars morphed into the outlines of flexed muscles as her eyes drifted up to his shoulders; and then how those outlines morphed into the curves and angles of his chiseled face.

Her eyes drifted to his lips, parted and on the cusp of a breath.

Lines there too.

Stories there too.

"Draco," she whispered.

His lips were on hers before a coherent thought could form. They felt familiar and strange at once. A reminder of their time together on _Onward_ and yet something new that her own lips were eager to explore. The pull of his own lips forced hers open and she felt his breath slip down her throat. His body pushed into hers, closing the small gap between them without a sound. The hard planes of his body offered an exquisite contrast to his soft, probing lips. She sighed into the kiss and the pressure of his body against hers.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. She opened what she now realized were tightly closed eyes and felt his forehead drop against hers, his hands and his body still trapping her against the door.

They took several deep breaths together before he stepped back. She looked up at him and bit her lip, not sure how to process the passion she had just felt. A passion she had been dreaming about for years but had all but given up on after his traumatic return into her life. He smirked at her.

"That will be a good memory." She blushed and tore away her gaze, suddenly feeling like a school girl caught ogling her crush.

"Goodbye Draco," she said breathily.

"Visit again soon, Granger," she could practically hear the smirk in his voice. She rolled her eyes and smiled, turning back to the door and pulling it open.


End file.
